#and the skin of my face is somehow dry *and* oily at the same time too??? i didn't know that was a thing that was possible until now
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evergardenwall · 2 years ago
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also. why have my eyes been so itchy lately :(
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blacksweetfire · 3 years ago
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I love getting all dolled up, specially this days cause I have been experimenting with graphic eyeliner looks and literally just doodling all over my face, it's so fun and relaxing.
But I haaaaaaaaate the process of removing my makeup, I just hate it. It leaves me red almost all over my face and the force I need to use to clean it all off makes my vision blurry.
I'm just saying, we have technology and incredible stuff, there should be already makeup that doesn't damage your skin if you were to leave it on until it just fades away on it's own, and that doesn't stain the pillow case when you nuzzle your face on it, just a thought.
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theyoutubedork · 3 years ago
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𝕭𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖉𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖆 - 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦𝔦
Bucky Barnes x Hydra!enhanced!reader
Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Masterlist | Leave me a request or give me some feedback!
Word count: 3.4k
Chapter Summary: Adjusting to a life without Hydra has been difficult for Y/n, but Bucky is there to guide her.
Warnings: 18+, fluff, angst, and sexual themes. swearing, i think, and mentions of violence and abuse. (Hydra stuff) Also panic-attack like situations, sensory overload, mentions of torture.
Not my Gif, had not been proofread too much
A/N: I’m sorry for the wait, I got a job and stuff, but I tried to write it a little bit longer, but I still wanted to leave y’all with a little bit of a cliffhanger, just to keep ya interested. Please let me know what you think of the series. I was thinking of making a tag list for this series, so let me know if you are interested in that sort of thing. You can sign up for it here
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“That’s my name?”
“Yes. That’s your name. Not Soldat. Not Belladonna. Just Y/n.”
Bucky looked into your eyes, and his stare almost suffocates you with how tender its was. You were confused. The Winter Soldier, the only person Hydra could truly love. A man that you had worked so hard to be his exact replica, the only difference acceptable was height. Hydra had curated you specifically to be his replacement, to carry on the mantle of death, destroying empires in your wake. You had been trained with the same ruthless dogma as him: no mercy, no witnesses, no mistakes. Those three principles were always on a dull repeat in the back of your subconscious
You envied him; his strength, his cunning, but secretly, his freedom. A part of you hated him, being reminded of how many times Hydra compared you to him. They were always saying words along the lines of, “You will always be weaker than him,” during their spiteful reveries.
But now here you were, face to face with that man, completely vulnerable before him, and you don’t know whether you like it or not.
You brush off his gaze, not willing to endure the strange feeling you get within the pit of your stomach whenever you meet his eyes. You look down at your forearms, and you reach up to your scalp, cringing at the feeling of your oily, frayed hair.
“I don’t know that last time I took a bath,” You groan, scratching at your roots, and you whimper when your jagged nails make contact with the dry skin there.
“Wouldn’t you prefer a shower?” Bucky babbled, slightly embarrassed by the image that popped in his head the second you mentioned a bath. He barely knew you, but the way you looked at him sent him reeling.
Your eyes still reeked of innocence and somehow knowing what you had done made your expression slightly unsettling. Usually one would use the stereotyped version of a person with PTSD or some sort of deep trauma, their eyes would appear empty and lifeless, but yours just looked like one of a young hopeful, who had their whole life ahead of them. Bucky could swear that he had never seen such beautiful eyes before. How could they look so sweet, when in actuality they are slightly terrifying.
“No,” you spoke suddenly yet firmly, startling Bucky slightly due to your pause in response.
“O-oh, okay,” Bucky stuttered, “Right this way then,” He stumbled quickly to his feet, nearly tripping over his mass array of blankets on the floor next to the bed.
You stalk behind him, following him slowly towards his bathroom. You wait at the doorway while Bucky scrambles to move a bunch of clutter off of the marble counter. He quickly turns the knobs of the bathtub, the water spurting out, as if it had been rarely used up to that point, building up the ever-so-slightest pressure. You begin to strip your clothes out of habit, and when Bucky finally turns to you, seeing you topless, and already unbuttoning your pants, Bucky scrambles to hold you wrists still.
“No! You don’t have to..do that..anymore,” He murmured, not very surprised how shameless you presented. Hydra treated their assets like new car at the car wash: almost power washing all the blood off them, and often leaving more wounds on their bodies then before they were bathed. Stripped like the first day you were born, they were washed of all the evidence of being a killing machine, but most importantly, being a human being
“Oh, ok,” You murmur, and you wait until Bucky left the room to finish stripping, and finally set yourself in the steaming water. You barely winced as you felt the water sting your open wounds, and it was sickeningly satisfying. Bucky had appeared to put in some sort of bubble bath stuff, and you felt slightly out of place in such a calming environment. You didn’t know what you were supposed to do, oh wait..
“Bucky?” You called out, slightly jumping at the almost immediate response, Bucky sliding his head rough a crack in the door. He was covering his eyes with his cybernetic palm,
“Yeah?” You see his eyebrows furrow and mouth curl into a small smile when he hears you let out a small laugh at his antics.
“Can you wash my hair? I-I don’t remember how.” You ask gingerly, and hear him let out a small sigh when he hears the tremble in your voice.
“Of course, did the bubbles work by the way? Wanna make sure I don’t see anything you don’t want me to see.”
“Yeah, its fine, there’s so many, you should be fine,” You murmur, and Bucky takes that as permission to open his eyes, entering the bathroom, gently closing the door behind him. He finally looks at you, and sees just the apex of your chest, and the delicate dips in your collarbones. You can see the familiar tinge of pink return to his cheeks and the very tips of his ears, yet you remain blissfully unaware of your effects on him. Bucky approached, grabbing a stool he kept in his storage closet, bringing it to the edge of the bathtub. He still towered over you, and he hesitantly grabbed his shampoo, opened his fleshed palm, and coated it with the soapy substance.
“I’m going to touch you now, ok?” He warned quietly, and you let out a small hum of encouragement. You turned, letting your back face Bucky. Bucky’s eyes couldn’t help but wander, and despite all the scars lettering your skin, he still thought it looked incredibly soft to the touch. He shook himself out of his thoughts, getting back to the task at hand. When his hand finally reaches your scalp, you flinch involuntarily. When Bucky starts to pull away, you grab his wrist tightly, making him yelp. You loosen immediately, a flash of embarrassment crossing your features.
“Sorry, I uh- I didn’t mean to flinch, I just- my body expects the worst. Keep going,” You murmured, and Bucky nods, starting to slowly massage your scalp, and immediately sigh in relief, finally letting your guard down enough to close your eyes. Your body finally seemed to understand that Bucky wasn’t here to hurt you, that this wasn’t just a dream, only to be woken back up into the monotonous hell you had been dealing with for what seemed like centuries.
You and Bucky fall into a steady rhythm, he would lather the soap into your hair several times, and you would bring up your knees, trying to cover yourself enough so that when Bucky used the detachable shower head to rinse it out, it would wash away all the bubbles. The warm water soothed your sore muscles, and you felt your cracked, withered skin replenish. You were basically half plant after all, so water was one of the only solaces you had when you were being kept by Hydra.
As Bucky continued to wash your hair, you began to think about what a life outside of Hydra could possibly mean for you.
“Bucky?”
“Yeah?”
“What did you do when you escaped Hydra?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean- what was like, the first thing you wanted to do when you first realized you were free?”
“Hmm, I think was actually washing my hair. It was always so dirty. Felt good to have it clean.”
“Yeah, but like, what sort of activity, something not out of necessity, but just because you wanted to?”
Bucky thought for a moment, pausing his ministrations,
“I’m not sure if I remember, cause I was kinda on the run for a while. I guess the only time I had a moment to myself was in Wakanda, and I got to tend to a small farm they gave me. I would just wake up every morning, look out on the lake for a while, and then go feed the goats. It was this nice routine I had, and it felt like I actually had some, calm, in Wakanda.”
“What’s Wakanda?”
“Oh right, it’s this country that only came on the map a few years ago, its like this hidden sanctuary in Africa. It’s hard to describe, so you’ll have to just see for yourself.”
You turned your head to the side, finally looking at him since he came into the bathroom. You nervously stared into his steady blues,
“Am I going to Wakanda?”
“Yes actually, you’re going to meet my friend Shuri, she’s going to help you.”
“When do I get to go?”
“I’m not sure. You might need to wait a bit,”
“Bucky?” You ask hesitantly.
“Yeah?”
“Can you come with me? To Wakanda?” Bucky lets out a small laugh, rubbing your shoulder affectionately, trying to calm your nerves.
“Of course I’m coming with you, Y/n. You’re not going to do this alone, I’ll be with you 100% of the way.” You think for a moment, and you place a shaky hand onto Bucky’s where it rests on your shoulder.
“Thank you. I’m just really scared.”
“I know you are. I was the same way, so I’m going to try and make you feel a little less scared ok?” He looks at you with a small smile, and you finally let a small smirk show on your face, and Bucky’s grows even wider. You take a moment before finally asking him something that’s been on your mind.
“Can I go outside?”
It had been a week and a half until you finally got your answer. Bucky insisted on having you meet everyone in the place you were staying, so they wouldn’t freak out when the deadly plant lady finally got to touch some grass. He didn’t use those words specifically, but you had deduced it from all the worried glances the rest of the ‘Avengers’ would look at Bucky with trepidation before shaking your hand. You expected people to be scared of you, hell you were scared of yourself. You constantly had to check in with yourself, taking a deep breath just to remind yourself that being a killing machine isn’t supposed to be your identity anymore. Bucky assured you to be patient, and as soon as Steve agreed to the idea, he’d bring you out to the nicest natural setting outside the compound.
You had barely spoken to anyone, aside from Bucky, and occasionally Steve. He had been happy to help you with any questions you had regarding to going about your new life in a world with technologies you have yet to comprehend. You were willing to give a small grimace that resembled a smile to anyone else in passing, but it had been more difficult to keep quiet in the last couple days. The almost animalistic instinct you had to touch something natural and made of soil, instead of cold metal, was beginning to greatly decrease your patience. You were willing to be ‘reformed’, but if they were going to subject you to this form of unintended torture any longer, you were afraid you were going to snap. You tried to ignore it for as long as possible, afraid that if you touch any aspect of nature, you would turn into her.
It didn’t work, given the state you’re currently are in, seated at the marbled kitchen island, Bucky cooking you both breakfast. He had finally convinced you to not hide away whenever you ate. You reluctantly sat there, holding a simple black mug, filled with a new tea brew that Wanda had made for you before she went off to training this morning. You hadn’t sipped from it just yet, knowing the teabag hadn’t fully incorporated yet. You picked up the string, swirling the teabag around, trying to speed up the process.
Meanwhile Bucky was humming an unfamiliar tune, surprisingly chipper. He was making you pancakes like he had promised, and he had his gaze trained on the pan, holding a spatula in his fleshed hand, while holding the pan handle with his bionic one. After a few moments, you finally blew onto the hot liquid, and took a small sip. Flavor notes of chamomile filled your senses, and instead of bringing a sense of warm calm, everything metallic you touched began to burn, as if your skin was allergic. You let out an uncomfortable groan, dropping the mug, not even flinching when you felt the tea burn your forearms. Bucky whipped his head around, and when he saw your skin red and inflamed, he called out your name, switching off the stove, completely disregarding the pancakes he had been so focused on prior. You didn’t even register his calls for you, stumbling off the barstool, running towards the sunspot, that was coming through the glass wall in the kitchen. As soon as your skin hit the sunlight, you felt a slight relief, the burn marks on your skin not stinging nearly as much. After a moment, you feel a hand on your shoulder, and you instinctually grab the wrist attached, nearly snapping it if it wasn’t for Bucky’s quick maneuvers.
“Hey! Y/N! It’s just me? What’s wrong? You burned yourself!” He stumbled, his eyes flitting across your features with worry. You relax slightly into his touch, but you can still feel an uncomfortable buzz throughout your body.
“I’m fine, I just really need to go outside.” You say through clenched teeth, trying not to lash out. You could easily break the glass, and run towards the forest you see on the horizon. It’s as if there was a string attached to you, and the tree line, and instead of an annoying pull ever once in a while, it was as if the string hooked into your skin, dragging you towards it.
“Y/N, I can’t…I need to ask Steve.” Bucky explains, unsure. You rip away your grip from his, and you struggle to breathe properly in the highly controlled atmosphere.
“Bucky, I need to go. Now. It feels like my body’s on fire.” You growl, stepping back into the sunspot on the floor, trying to control yourself from losing control. You begin to feel her presence, and you’re very scared at the possibility of hurting someone if you don’t get some fresh air.
“Y/n..” Bucky starts, but you hush him with a loud yell,
“If I don’t go out right now, I won’t hesitate to break this goddamn glass.”
“I need to talk to Steve,” Bucky pleaded with you but you shake your head furiously. You finally make eye contact with him, and when he sees a dreadful shade of violet flash in your eyes, you see him tense.
“Bucky, I don’t want to hurt you, please, just let me out, I won’t become her if you let me out, I promise,” You beg him, your breathing beginning to pick up in rapid pace. Bucky thinks for a moment, and he finally speaks,
“Friday open the closet exit, and alert Steve that I’m taking Y/n for a walk,”
“Sergeant Barnes, Captain Rogers has not authorized…”
“Do it, or we’ll be in a lot of trouble..” Bucky interrupted her with a yell, and Friday seemed to sense his desperation, and when the glass wall slowly started to slide open, you immediately ran through, charging through the open field towards the forest.
“Y/N!” Bucky yelled after you, running after you. When he finally catches up to you, he finds you hunched over on all fours. Your hands were digging into the ground, digging through the layer of pine needles just to calm yourself down. Bucky breathes a sigh of relief when you finally meet his gaze. He finds no traces of the deadly Belladonna, just a calm, content look on your face. He kneels down next you, and when he finally has the courage to place a fleshed hand on your shoulder, you lean into his touch, finally relaxed. You take a deep, shuddered sigh, and you sit back on your heels, your fingernails detaching from the soil.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” You murmur, your actions finally catching up to you know that your body wasn’t having a complete meltdown.
“It’s ok, you just gotta tell me what happened, I was really worried about you for a minute there,” Bucky assured you, his thumb making small circles just below the dip in your shoulder, and you let out another sigh, letting Bucky relieving the tension trapped there.
Before you could speak, you hear heavy footsteps approaching, crushing the dead pine needles covering the forest floor. You both turn to see Steve, surprisingly out of breath. You see that he’s drenched in sweat, since at this time in the morning he’s leading training with the early birds of the compound. You feel regret seep into your veins when you see the frown on his face.
“Bucky what the hell happened?” Steve grumbled, running a hand through his sweaty locks. He towers over the both of you, and Bucky struggles to find an excuse, not understanding what happened himself.
“I’m sorry Steve, I just needed to go outside.” You sigh, finally standing up from your position, head bowed, ready to be reprimanded by the Captain.
“Couldn’t you have asked me first? You know that you can’t just leave until we know that…” Steve starts, but pauses before he says something he’ll regret, yet you hear him loud and clear. Anger boils in your system, and you cant help but meet his gaze with a cold stare.
“Look, I know that everyone’s afraid I’m gonna go out and kill somebody if I do something as much as touch a tree, but that’s not how it works. I’m basically half human half plant, I need to get some sunlight every once in a while,” You growl, angry that everything had to be blown out of proportion.
“Y/n..” Bucky starts but you interrupt him,
“I’m not done. You know how if you leave a houseplant out of the sun, that they start to wither? Same rules apply to me, except to my body. Hydra used to keep me out of sunlight, and only let me out whenever they needed me for a mission. They had me on the brink of death constantly, and when it got really bad, I’d break out of programming and kill a bunch of guards just so I could go outside, which in result lead to more torture. So unless you want to deal with Belladonna, I suggest you let me go outside when I need to.” You finish, and you only met with shocked stares from both super soldiers, Steve more so than Bucky.
“I’m sorry Y/n..I just..” Steve starts but you rest a feeble hand on his brows shoulder, looking at him with a reassuring gaze.
“It’s ok, I should’ve told you guys sooner. I was scared that I’d lose it if i went out outside, but after nearly losing it from not going outside, I might as well tell you guys the reason.” You say with a light laugh, trying to cover the anxiety boiling beneath your skin from just having to talk about details from your life from Hydra. You sigh before continuing, “I want to follow your guys’ rules, I really do, but I will lose my fucking mind if you make me stay in that building made entirely out of metal 24/7,”
“Okay, know that you explain it, I feel like a dick keeping you cooped up in there for nearly two weeks,” Steve laughs somberly, and you give him a slight smile. You turn to Bucky,
“That reminds me, when can I go to Wakanda? I don’t want to have this happen again. I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore,” You practically beg him, reaching out to hold his hands. You feel bad for touching after a moment, forgetting you literally have dirt caked underneath your fingernails, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind with the small smile he gives you when you finally touch him willing for what felt like millennia. What you didn’t know was that Bucky secretly reveled in your touch, something about it made his nerves go haywire, and he’s not exactly sure where it comes from. All he knows that he doesn’t want to live in a world without it. After a moment, Bucky gives Steve a questioning glance, and Steve gives a small nod, a guilty look on his face. Bucky meets your desperate gaze, and gives you a smile that reveals his dimples, making you automatically smile in return.
“I’ll give Shuri a call,”
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sunviix · 3 years ago
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+ Accessory +
—————————————
If jewels could be worn on the heart, I’d love to be one.
~~ Chapter 1 ~~
I open my dry, weary eyes to see my dimly lit room, light only calmly entering in from my window. Huh, maybe the sun hasn’t fully risen yet? I reach over to my nightstand right besides my creaky, twin sized bed. My fingers are cold, and they feel a little reluctant to move, seeing as I just woke up. I pick up my phone which fits rather nicely in my hand, my phone case feels cold, everything feels cold. I guess it’s like that since it’s winter, every surface I touch feels frigid. My phone case is transparent, but has a pretty resin display of blue flowers inside along with some golden glitter which adds the perfect sheen to the picture. Clicking the power button on the side of my phone I notice that its 12:09pm. It’s the afternoon. The sun has definitely risen. I guess I should expect that from winter, huh. So cold.
I rise up from my pillow, stretching and popping my back. Stretching feels soooo good yet it just makes me wanna lay back in my warm bed. But no, I have a busy day ahead of me in about an hour and a half. I sigh and close my heavy eyelids, tilting my head down. I mourn my last few minutes of relaxation before becoming a busy bee. Then I remember. I remember why it took me a little longer to fall asleep last night. I got a promotion. Oh my gosh I got a promotion! This time, instead of dealing with customers up front most of the time as a receptionist, I’ll be moved to customer services! Which means I’ll be in a more remote area in the building, answering calls and filling out paperwork without the pressure of a line of customers standing in front of me! I mean, it’ll still be quite stressful, because it’s my job, but not *as* stressful. This is a whole load of anxiety off of my shoulders. Ahh. And I’ll be getting a raise too, I feel so lucky~.
Then I remember again, and a whirlpool of anxiety hits my stomach, as if Poseidon is playing some kind of whirlpool dart game and I’m the bullseye. I’ll be working with one of the most reputable guys in our staff. Crow Harrison. He’s sharp, witty, and most of all; cold. I don’t always get to see him, but from what I remember, his frame is around 6’0, his hair is thick and free, he’s got dark skin, and sharp eyes. He’s intimidating to me usually, but he’s responsible. He’s never late to work, always gets his work done on time, and he’s literally loaded. I’d say it’s because he’s working a pretty good job at a pretty fancy place- the same I’m working at, but no, his family is already rich, he only has this job because he doesn’t want his family looking out for him 24/7. He wants to be a ‘hardworking man’, or at least that’s what I’ve heard. And I respect that. Nonetheless I’m real nervous about working with such a competent man, how could we *possibly* be on the same level?! I realize I’ve spent too much time panicking about my job rather than getting ready to go to my job. I check my phone and it’s already 12:15, sheesh.
I practically roll out of bed and dash to the door, swinging it open and speed walking to the kitchen. I grab the freezer handle and almost knock myself in the face opening it so quickly. I grab a frozen breakfast burrito and throw it in the microwave. Somehow, I never have enough time for an actual breakfast. I catch a gasp of air which hits my nose hard, I can almost smell the blood about to come down my nose. It’s so cold it’s irritating my face. God. Sliding into the bathroom I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, gosh my hair is a mess. I stumble over to grab my hairbrush on a small shelf I have in a basket and start brushing my hair bottom to top while I go back to the mirror. My face is a mess, my hair is a mess, ugh. My hair feels all warm and possibly oily, I can’t help but to have this resting bitch face either. My face is naturally more detailed compared to other people I know.
I noticed a lot of people at my job have smooth faces, I think a good handful of them are white, maybe that’s why. I have lots of freckles scattered from one cheek to the next, I don’t have a ‘baby face’ per se, my skin is soft but my skin caves in a little around my cheekbones. I kind of look like I have a strong jawline but the truth is I’m not strong at all. I giggle thinking about me ever getting myself working out. I hate exercise. I have dark brown eyes that could possibly stare into my own soul if I look at myself long enough, I have hooded eyelids and thin, sharp creases drawn under my eyes. I don’t look old though, thank god. Actually I think it adds to my naturally round eye shape, I think my eyes look quite cool the way they are, but when I’m not smiling I look a little angry, especially being so groggy in the morning. I finish brushing my hair, then I hear my microwave beep, so I rush back to open the microwave and run back, trying to finish my hair while letting my food cool down. I hate rushing like this.
~~
I finally finish putting all my products in my hair and I snag a bite of my hot burrito before dropping it back down on a plate and running to my room. I nearly trip over myself. I could only imagine what Crow would think of me if he saw me now, he’d definitely say I’m a mess, I wonder what other things go through his head when he sees people like me, all tangled up in simple tasks they were initially too careless to take care of. I once found him scolding a bunch of newbies a few months ago, he’s real serious about his job. Of course I am too, but it may not seem that way. I struggle putting on my uniform which consists of a black button down shirt and black pants. Straightening out the thin folds on my shirt I realize I kind of look fancy but that’s what happens when you work at a jewelry shop, to be honest I think I look pretty good! My mind keeps finding its way back to Crow as I scramble through the morning, I’m real nervous to be working with him- I mean how could someone like me compare to him? I don’t get it, I feel like one wrong move and he could get my boss to rip my entire career to shreds just because he asked. And I’d accept my fate, no way am I beefing with someone like Crow, his high status. And his family would have my head, too.
Finally, after tussling with my slightly tight uniform like a band of rattlesnakes, I get it on properly, and I frantically throw my ID around my neck and start reaching for my jewelry box. My jewelry box is probably one of the prettiest things I own. It’s a finely sanded wooden box make of a type of dark oak wood, and on the top it’s sprinkled with lavender glitter that’s fallen into a floral design with little chunks of amethysts embedded into it. It’s so pretty, yet it doesn’t really fit in with the rest of the decor in my room. This looks more like it belongs in a fairy-themed room or maybe even cottagecore. It even has a golden painted lock on it with a little golden painted key and it’s so cute, yet I don’t usually lock it since I don’t believe I’ll be getting robbed anytime soon. There’s a little hidden slot for the key on the bottom of the chest, this jewelry box is probably the *nicest* thing I own, and it’s so cute.
I reach for my usual pair of crescent shaped stud earrings, but then I realize today is a special day and I wanna go a little further. I grab some star shaped dangle earrings instead. The star design has four points, up, down, left, and right. The edges are neatly colored with gold while the inner part is a dark, royal blue. The chain that hands in between the hook and the earring in also gold. They’re dazzling earrings and they’re not too big either! They’re perfect for work. I try to swiftly slide the hook through my earlobes without giving myself a new piercing, then I sit down and throw my socks and some black leather shoes. They’re pretty decent shoes, nothing special really. Although my uniform may not be as expensive as these
earrings, they fit together perfectly. I decide to touch up my hat by picking up a comb I lazily left on my dresser, and part my fringe, swiping it sharply to my left, it sexily covers my left eye. I giggle a little bit before remembering I’m getting ready for work, so I dash back to the kitchen to try to scarf down my burrito. It’s not too tasty or satisfying but it’s enough for a decent breakfast. I pick up the pace rushing back to my room to grab my small, coffee colored duffel bag and make sure I have enough money in it- which I do. I throw my keys in my bag from my dresser and slide my black coat on, it has a fluffy hood which has saved my life many times from the cold. I wrap a warm red scarf around my neck and stretch my fingers through red cotton gloves, then rush downstairs and out the house nearly slipping on the sloppily placed rug. I should’ve paid more attention while I put it there last night after laundry.
Tune in for chapter 2 <33
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shijiujun · 4 years ago
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Mom ~ I’m not saying you have to do this BUT Chuyao teaching for the last snack item at the same time AU hahahah 🥰
hahahaha right up my alley, and much crack below - chuyao’s hands meeting over a plate of snacks that ends up evolving into a marriage proposal LMAO
--
“So Youning,” Bai Qili asks over family dinner one evening, “When are you and Detective Lu going to get married?”
Lu Yao, who has just stuffed a large spoonful of his favourite fish maw’s soup into his mouth, almost spits out the mouthful, and it is only Chusheng ducking out of the way fast enough that prevents his suit from being a casualty of Lu Yao being stupid, considering how he’s seated right next to him.
Regular family dinners with Lu Yao in the mix, that’s right. Somehow, somewhere, after Bai Qili extended the invitation for dinner for the third time, Lu Yao began tagging along for all dinners. Bai Qili seems to have adopted him of sorts, be it as a potential son-in-law (not true) or a starving child in need of some tender loving care (read: cheapskate), and on the once-a-week dinners these days, Lu Yao’s favourite dishes make an appearance too.
“Dad!” Youning says in disbelief, her eyes wide. “What gave you the idea that I like him? That we are even together, or that we can even stand to be in the same room with each other without arguing?”
“Don’t lie to me. Nothing can escape my eyes. Otherwise, why are the both of you still staying together? And I see you have some new dresses and those hats that you like from those yangren stores down on Bai Lu Xia street. Just with your salary, how can you afford those if not for Detective Lu buying them for you?”
Lu Yao protests, “Lao ye-zi, I don’t have that kind of money either-”
At the same time, Youning yells, “I earned this! Ask Chusheng-ge! He’s the one who buys things for me as payment for gathering information on his cases, okay? What do you mean, are you saying that I’m not competent enough to-”
Lu Yao looks between Bai Qili and Youning in confusion and fear, as if the Green Dragon Gang leader is about to command him to marry his daughter, or else.
When he is stressed, Lu Yao eats. Well, even when he isn’t stressed, he’s eating, so unconsciously, his hand reaches out for the jianbing on the table, his eyes still on the father and daughter duo.
Instead of coming into contact with a crisp, oily piece of snack, Lu Yao’s hand knocks against skin, and he jerks, as if burnt.
Looking up, he sees Chusheng staring at him too, their hands connected over a plate of jianbing that Chusheng knows is his favourite.
Lu Yao’s cheeks flame immediately, and he retracts his hand.
“You... you can have it first,” he says, embarrassed for no reason at all.
“No,” Chusheng replies, and inches the plate closer to Lu Yao. “You have some first.”
Pushing the plate back, Lu Yao shakes his head, “No, you have it first, Lao Qiao.”
“This is your favourite! Just take the piece on the top I know you want that one.”
“I.... I can take the next one, you take the first one-”
“San Tu, just take-”
They’re interrupted rudely when a third hand moves between them, and snags the very first jianbing from the top of the stack, effectively ending the argument. It’s Youning, and as she nibbles on the pastry she just stole, there’s a really smug look on her face.
“... what?” Lu Yao asks, frowning.
“... I was mistaken.” It is then that Bai Qili speaks, catching their attention. His eyes are considering as they look between Chusheng and Lu Yao. “I see. I see.”
“Lao ye-zi,” now it is time for Chusheng to frown, “What do you mean?”
Bai Qili nods, “Chusheng ah, you know that I treat you like my own son, right? I know I’ve been hard on you, but... I am still rather open when it comes to these things. Others might have an issue with it, but what have I not seen? Back in the day, the number of brothers in the gang who looked twice at each other...”
Uncomprehending, both Chusheng and Lu Yao cock their heads to the side in absolute bewilderment.
“It’s alright!” Bai Qili declares. “Lu Yao will still be my son-in-law no matter what. I was mistaken to think he wanted to marry Youning. It’s the same if you marry him instead, Chusheng! And to think the both of you thought I wouldn’t accept it... is that why you decided to use Youning to hide your relationship?”
Then to Lu Yao, “I’ll call your father and sister tomorrow, and we can start making arrangements.”
And Youning, that lying, conniving, ridiculous woman, goes, “That’s right! That’s why Chusheng-ge has been paying me for my assistance in clothes and accessories, Dad.”
It seems that Bai Qili has gotten it all wrong, and Youning is having the time of her life making this mess worse, because he and Chusheng, they aren’t together!
Well... that’s not to say that Lu Yao hasn’t considered it, or stayed up in bed on sleepless nights worrying if he would ruin his friendship with Chusheng if he confessed. As soon as the fear and doubt comes, however, Lu Yao thinks back on all the things that Chusheng has done for him. The way Chusheng looks at him, the way he talks to him in that gentle, indulgent tone.
He must like him somewhat... right?
If it wasn’t for the words unspoken between them, Lu Yao would believe that every meal they had, every movie they went to, every walk they took together.. those were dates, but Chusheng hasn’t said anything.
The uncertainty has put them both at a stalemate of sorts, their relationship intimate but not official. They haven’t even once confessed to each other, and despite everything, Lu Yao cannot get rid of that niggling fear in his heart, that Chusheng is only being nice because they are the closest xiongdi ever, that Chusheng still wants to marry a woman like Tong Li...
“We’re... we’re not,” swallows Lu Yao, looking up. “Lao ye-zi, we aren’t-”
“Mnn,” Chusheng cuts in suddenly after clearing his throat loudly once, and Lu Yao feels his whole body go cold. “Let’s do that, Lao ye-zi. We should also discuss the betrothal gift with the Lu family.”
Gaping at Chusheng in shock, Lu Yao’s throat entirely dry, he croaks, “What-”
Chusheng is smiling at him, but it is the sight of that faint red blush on his cheeks that gives him away, that convinces Lu Yao that this man is serious and not making a cruel joke at his expense.
“You haven’t even-” Lu Yao protests weakly, “You didn’t even... also, why are you the one giving the betrothal gift?!”
“Do you want to give me the betrothal gift then?” asks Chusheng, leaning close. “I don’t mind. What’s mine ends up becoming yours anyway, so after the betrothal gift comes in, I’ll hand it all over to you. Was that your plan? Smart, my San Tu.”
Youning’s snickers are deafening on the side, while Bai Qili’s acceptance and approval is blinding.
“... no one is marrying anyone until we go on a date!” Lu Yao finally exclaims in an outburst.
His flailing hand is caught by Chusheng, and that’s when it finally sinks in. Chusheng is not joking. Chusheng is holding his hand in front of Bai Qili.
Chusheng wants to marry him.
“Anything you want,” Chusheng says.
---
All over a plate of jianbing guys!
*xiongdi - brother
*lao ye-zi - title to refer to the master of the house, usually an older person
*jianbing - chinese crepes!
*betrothal gift or pinli/caili - the guy is usually supposed to pay a ‘bride price’ when marrying his bride, and the money in some cases is provided by the guy’s family. in this case, if lu yao’s dad pays the bai family the ‘bride price’ for chusheng the ‘bride’, the money would probably end up going back into lu yao’s pockets anyway at the end of the day, which is a steal for him XD
---
~ from this list of prompts! ~
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demonprosecutor · 4 years ago
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NEW HADES ONESHOT, TITLED: OH NO!
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11
trouble comes in the form of bedraggled travelers - stinking with the scent of journey-sweat, the ghost of blood, and strong brows streaked with dirt. they stood on the the threshold of the door, intimidating and tall enough to block the sun with their heads. Some were injured, supported by his compatriots, and the leader, aegeus, did not look any better.
“My name is aegeus of athens. My men and i need aid, if you are amenable to helping?” as if there was any question, as if there were any part of you that would ever deny helping out those in need. (lady hestia had always had a soft spot in your chest, and something inside you pulses with a warm pleasure).
You dry your hands on a nearby cloth, draped over your shoulder, smiling close-lipped in welcome. “Of course, you will find safety in the lands here.” however, you do pause, turning your head towards the stairs that housed the slumbering god prince - much to your exasperation, he was too much like a cat, sleeping deeply whenever he did. If you had to wager a guess, he would rouse well-past noon, only coaxed to wakefulness by the smell of lunch.
(you spoil him awfully, plans to slaughter a cow in the name of the gods and prepare a meal of kings)
Aegeus smiles at you, teeth pearly, arch of his nose hooked and strong, dark eyes obscured by the boyish curls not tamed by the purple-dyed headband that pinned locks back from his face fruitlessly. Perhaps you stare too long; for his brow arches and you avert your gaze to stir into action. “Ah, erm, i shall set out cots out back and bring out my medical supplies. I’m afraid they are rudimentary at best, so cleaning wounds and binding bandages are the best I could do.”
The leader of the group waves a careless hand, corners of his eyes crinkling kindly. “Worry not, my men shall clean themselves up. We only desire more rest.”
Your head bobs in a single nod, directing the small motley group towards the back where they could find rest on hay bales, the straw cushioning. There was a strange magic in the lands that lady persephone tilled, a gentleness in everything she did that translated to the earth in equal. You hear them, ears pricked for danger, sigh at the truest sense of the word ‘reprieve’.
Much like the bees that buzz in the cradle of branches, you busy yourself with gathering the appropriate supplies - laying fresh fruits and baked bread into a basket before hurrying outside in lithe steps. You distribute your wares carefully, smiling with the slightest quirk at the corner of your mouth.
All the while, Aegeus watches with the simple delight of seeing his men resting and able to fully relax the hard jut of weary shoulders. He accepts the fruit and bread graciously, “we do not know how to thank you generosity, it is beyond what we had hoped for.”
You shrug slightly. modesty was in your blood and you are never someone who could ever find comfort in the gratitude of others, even if it was well-warranted. (the lands that edged the outskirts of lady persephone’s fields were wild ones, ones that lady artemis delighted in hunting in. it was no place for men). “no need for thanks.” you say after a few awkward seconds, at which you deigned to look up at aegeus who simply watched you in amusement.
shyness was not a part of your normal build, but something about aegeus elicits something within you - a certain flightiness that makes you want to shift in place and to run. brows furrow together before you start pulling out cots for the men to rest at during the night - the lady of the house was not due back to the cottage for a week’s time, so you knew that she wouldn’t protest against it. not that you were going to attempt to hide this whole affair in general.
although, something does strike you as strange. the briefest blink of action, or more accurately, action that should have been, that caught your eye. the same man who grimaced and groaned about an apparent head wound was laughing freely, tossing his head without a care, as though he were not injured at all. but suddenly, aegeus was in front of you - a flicker of movement that has you startling and clutching the basket closer to your chest.
“fair helper of the gods, would it be too much to ask for water to quench our thirst? we would drink the river water, but it is well-known to be the Styx, and we do not fancy an early journey to the underworld.” he looms over you somehow, face arranged in serene calm, yet eyes betraying a hardness that has you nearly taking a step back.
but when faced with wolves, turning to run is the worst one could do.
your mouth is dry, hands white-knuckling its grip around the handle, as you nod and carefully, with the awareness of deer - retreat to the the cottage.
instead of the empty kitchen with lentil soup simmering over the tripod cauldron with friendly licks of fire underneath the heated metal, you find the audacious prince of the underworld sneaking a sip! 
“zagreus! stop sneaking!” he peeks one eye open, the red one, expression torn between guilt and bliss. but you were never that good in remaining firm, even if firmness was warranted. how do you think the cats that prowled about stayed well-fed and plump? you try your hardest to frown, but the attempt shatters as you pass by him and throw a piece of bread at him from the pile, eyes crinkling at both the easy catch and the delightful crunch of food well-cooked. “if you’re going to sneak my food, at least try the bread with it.”
prince zagreus, scourge of the underworld wretches, snorts out a laugh, as he does what you instruct. while he may have the stubbornness of a bull, you find that he has the tendency to go along with what you say... well, majority of the time. his eyes widen before his features melt in orgasmic bliss that would have lady aphrodite cooing. “ugh, this is delicious. are you sure you aren’t the deity of cooking?”
it’s well-meaning and one that makes you laugh, thwapping him with a clothe. “ha, ha. flatter me all you like, prince zagreus, but you won’t be able to sneak food before the allotted time.”
the god pouts for two reason: “it was worth a try, and what did i say about calling me prince zagreus, it’s just zagreus.” he never did like reminder of his own status - found it to be isolating in ways he did not wish to revisit any longer.
you laugh and place a tray in his hands, loading cups onto it, while you carried a pitcher of water. “alright, just zagreus. come help me give water to our guests.”
“who?”
“just injured travellers that need a place to stay at before continuing on with their journey.” zagreus looks towards the back where you both can hear the boisterous laughter of men before nodding and walking to help give water. 
(it did feel awfully nice to be able to boss someone of zagreus’ personage around)
but he stops just a few steps away from the back door, suddenly enough that you bump into him and spill a bit of water on your chiton, nose mashing against his solid back muscles without remorse. involuntarily, you squeak, “ow! zagreus!----” 
before the ringing cries of weapons being unsheathed has you stiffening and zagreus dropping the tray of cups with a shattering echo that makes you wince. you try edge out from behind him, to peek around his bulk to see what the Hades is going on, but he throws out an arm to keep you behind him - protective. if you were terrified for your life, you would be endeared - but for the moment, you were terrified beyond reproach.
“what matter of god-abomination are you!” one of the men yelled, hefting an expertly-crafted bow in his hands, glinting arrowhead trained on the prince.
the prince growls, eyes glinting dangerously and hands flexing into fists. something battle-hungry swirled in the depths of his being, only stayed by your hands, curled tightly into the back of his chiton. leashed by your own fear. “who are you!?” he demands harshly, moving in such a way that you could tell he was herding you back into the cottage. 
however, you dig your heels in stubbornly, nearly folding yourself against his back. 
“it would bode wise for you to answer our questions, we are not merciful men.” the once-kind tone of aegeus warps into something oily, something that truly makes your skin crawl. a conniving fox who found rest in the hen’s coup and is preparing to consume all of the chickens. you, the fool who opened your doors for the predator. 
the implication of the tone was clear. alone, zagreus would have a chance to fight, but with you there? it would make it far more difficult. zagreus grinds his teeth together, “my name is zagreus, son of persephone and hades.”
you think that it would be the end of that, but suddenly, zagreus sweeps you up in his mighty arms and barrels through the back door - slamming it shut with his back. already you can hear the thud of weapons against the creaking wood and the cacophonous shouts of men hungering for something you didn’t understand. 
perhaps you are screaming, perhaps you are not. but in your tunnel vision, all you can see is prince zagreus holding your face as though it was the most precious thing he’s ever known, “--- listening, are you listening!” you blink before nodding as best as you could in his hands. “i want you to hide underneath the stairs, curl up into a ball and cover your ears. do not come out unless i get you, ok?”
your hands shake and curl around his wrists, “but what about you?! you-- you’re outnumbered and they look-”
he squishes your face until all protest ceases, face smoothing into confidence, “don’t worry about me. i got this, i’ve faced a lot worse. go. go.”
zagreus nudges you to the stairs where you curl up under it, pressing your hands against your ears hard enough to make them ring, as he runs upstairs to retrieve his weapon.
your heartbeat thunders in your chest in unrelenting thuds and you count: one apple, two apples, three apples, four...
by the time you reach eighty-three apples, something taps your back and you shoot up in alarm, bumping your head against the underside of a step. you yelp and zagreus hisses through his teeth, reaching over to rub the place where no doubt a bump was going to form.
through your tears you see him, splattered a bit with blood and... “zagreus! you’re--- you’re bleeding.”
he looks down at his side where an open wound was sluggishly bleeding red (don’t gods bleed gold? do gods bleed at all?), far too nonchalant for your liking, “it... would seem so.”
you crawl from your place and drag him into the only chair chair, ignoring the bodies laying yonder, swallowing down the bile that threatened to rise at the blood that caked his body. “does it hurt?” you look for your bandages, the kitchen remarkably intact despite the fact that the door was beaten down and had sword slashes and arrows sticking out of it. “silly question - it does.”
“not that bad. i’d had worse...”
there’s another pitcher empty nearby, and you fill it with warm water, snagging a clean cloth. tipping the pitcher, you start cleaning the wound, wrinkling your nose and ignoring the way your skin crawled. it was silent, the only sounds being the hisses of stifled pain, the whispers of fabric. you stand up, and grab another cloth and dip it into the pitcher of water before cupping the prince’s chin and wiping away the blood that found its way onto his face. it felt... intimate standing between his open legs, scrutinizing his face for anymore injuries.
you make it up to his neck before you realize just what you were doing. 
what in the gods’ name am i doing?
you clear your throat and take a step back, skin prickling for another reason from the look that the prince gave you, looking to the side. the cloth, stained with red, twists uncertainly between your fingers. “i’m sorry. i... i should’ve known better. i caused you to get hurt.” guilt saturates your tone, enough that zagreus reaches out, hand around your wrist carefully. 
“hey. hey, don’t talk like that. it’s not your fault. you were being kind and they took advantage of that.”
“but i should have been more wary!” you protest, yet allowed yourself to step closer, close enough that zagreus can pull you into a loose hug, shushing you gently. you don’t cry, lost the ability to do so for a long time, but it was close. eventually, the chaos lifts and you pull away, feeling more put-together (you suspect that a breakdown was in order later when zagreus wasn’t around). “... did you get all of them?”
the prince’s countenance darkens, hand curled into a tight fist against his thigh. “no, the leader got away.”
that makes you shiver. aegeus... was more than he seemed, and he appeared to be the type of man to not forgive and forget. but he was gone and that is what mattered. “oh.” you bite your lower lip and look towards the back, “what do we do about the bodies?”
zagreus pats your hand where it rested on the table, “don’t worry, i’ll take care of it.” uncertainly, you nod your head. frazzled by the day’s events. 
“well, i suppose... lunch is in order. go clean yourself up, you stink.” you manage to muster up a smile at the way he pouted and whined, helping him to his feet (although he did playfully make sure you couldn’t tug him up), and nudging him to get cleaned.
as you spooned lentil soup into the bowls, your troubled mind goes to aegeus, before you shake it violently.
it would bode well for you to banish that from your mind, nothing would come from it. after all, no one would dare to cross the gods. 
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princesskokichi · 4 years ago
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kokichi meeting a mermaid s/o
all i used to write was fantasy aus a long time ago, so i got a little bit excited oops
i haven’t written fantasy in such a long time, it’s just romance nowadays - mod kokichi
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- alright, to be fair
- this was not / his / world
- he didn't know where he was, but this wasn't his world
- when he was by the sea, playing in the sand as if he was a child
- he knew that something was off, even from the moment he woke up
- and then he met you by the sea, a timid and almost strange person
- you must've been swimming for a long time because he hadn't seen you on the beach at all
- even though the beach is completely empty today, for some reason
- you rose up out of the water, your legs dripping water for a few seconds, before they were perfectly dry
- he was a little confused at how your skin was so dry even though you just got out of the water
- perhaps you had waterproof sunscreen with a lot oil that just slicks off water, but you didn't look oily
- and you were wearing a whole formal outfit, including a satchel
- before he realized it, you two were making eye contact
- and then you rushed back into the water, as if you were supposed to be out of it at all
- but,, while he was staring at where you disappeared, a large tail broke the water surface as whatever animal with it pushed itself deeper into the sea
- that was,, weird
- no matter how weird it was, it wasn't the weirdest thing he saw today
- his phone wasn't working at all, and he couldn't contact shuichi or kaede
- and he swore, he SWORE he saw a large bird flying across his window
- but it wasn't a bird,, it just had the wings of a bird
- it was a person
- or a person with the wings of a bird
- so you running into the water in full apparel  was not at all the weirdest thing he witnessed today
- kokichi was a little upset, because he and his friends had made plans to play at the beach today before school starts back up the next day
- ten minutes later, while he was fuming that no one shwed up, you arrived out of the water again
- your skin repelled the water as before, and your hair was dry before you even reached him
- oh god, he was going to have to talk to you, wasn't he ?
- s / o : " hello ? who are you, and why are you dressed weirdly ? "
- kokichi scoffed. you just met him and you were saying he was dressed weirdly ? look at your own outfit, god
-kokichi : " i'm dressed in my swim suit. what are you dressed in ? "
- s / o : " my marriage clothes. "
- kokichi : " you're getting married ? then why are you at the beach and not the church ? "
- s / o : " church ? what would i have to do with the church ? "
- kokichi : " most people in japan get married at the church, duh. "
- s / o : " japan ? is that your tribe ? "
- kokichi : " its our country ?? where are you from ?? "
- you sat down beside him, looking at his little sand castle
- s / o : " i don't know where you're from, but this is ******. "
- kokichi : " oh. i'm pretty sure this is japan, but okay. "
- s / o : " here, i'll prove it to you. "
- fumbling around, you pulled a paper from the satchel you wore
- opening it up, he noticed that it was a bounty for a person
- s / o : " see ? some witch named kokichi is wanted for murder, here in ******. "
- kokichi : " huh,, that's,, uh, that's wild. what are they wanted for ? "
- s / o : " no idea. i just know the government wants them. "
- you stared at the picture, and then back up at kokichi
- s / o : " hey, you kinda look like them,, "
- kokichi : " oh, so i do. "
- s / o : " so, traveller from this " japan " that you speak of, what's your name ? what are you doing here ? "
- kokichi : " haha i don't think my name is very relevant. "
- he was very confused, please pardon him being so awkward
- he's been a part of weird situations, but this ?
- alright, this was teetering over the edge of what he knew and how to deal with it
- s / o : " then what are you doing here ? "
- kokichi : " i had a beach date with my friends. but i don't think that's going to happen very much anymore. "
- this kind of talk lasted for about twenty minutes ( i'm running rather long with my words so i gotta shorten the scenes a little )
- did you know that kokichi was the same witch as on the wanted poster ? yes
- did you particularly care ? no, not really. he seemed harmless.
- you two talked about a lot of things, even your marriage you ran away from
- you were a captive for a very long time, and were forced to marry someone you just met
- of course, you managed to escape, but when you came to the surface, you thought kokichi was there to catch you, so you ran away again, watching from the ocean
- midway into your story, kokichi spoke up
- kokichi : " speaking  of,, isn't it a little hard to breathe in the water ? "
- s / o : " why would it be hard ? can't you breathe in the water ? "
- kokichi : " i could, but only once. and then i'd never do it again. "
- s / o : " oh. i can breathe all the time in the water. air and water feel very different in my lungs though, so it's a little weird for the change sometimes. "
- kokichi : " why ? "
- s / o : " what do you mean, why ? "
- kokichi : " why can you breathe underwater ? "
- s / o : " uhm, to foreigners,, i think,, i think the word is, uhm, mermaid ? is that the word ? in my tribe, i was called a siamese fighting fish, or just the word betta. "
- kokichi : " oh. a mermaid. makes sense. "
- s / o : " what a strange reaction. have you never seen a mermaid ? "
- kokichi : " we don't have mermaids where i come from. "
- s / o : " we don't have you where i come from, either. but i don't react strangely to you. "
- kokichi : " you said i was dressed weirdly. "
- s / o : " oh, so i did. nevermind then. tell me more about japan. "
- kokichi spoke about japan, about the people there and the way of life. the good food ( although he tried to stay away from the whole concept of sushi, for your sake ). how school sucks sometimes, but you learn a lot so  you deal with it. how the park looks so pretty at night. pretty much everything.
- in the end, you decided to follow in his footsteps
- s / o : " can i accompany you ? to japan ? "
- kokichi : " i'm sure you could, uh, but why would you ? "
- s / o : " well, i'm the only one left alive in my tribe. if i come back to the ocean, i'll just get kidnapped over and over again. "
- kokichi : " why don't you just go to another ocean ? "
- s / o : " it doesn't work like that, dummy. "
- kokichi : " well SORRY for suggesting something, geez. "
- you laughed, standing up
- s / o : " alright, it's decided. take me back to japan with you. "
- kokichi : " i'm going to be pretty honest with you right now. i have no idea how to do that. i woke up today and was in your country. "
- s / o : " oh, so that's why you're considered a witch, kokichi. you're not from here. "
- kokichi : " so it may be. "
- s / o : " i would suppose,, you just go back to bed ? and then when you wake up, you could be in japan. "
- after agreeing with your terms, he took you to his little apartment
- you fell asleep in his bed, wearing his clothes, completely unaware that that was not the norm in japan
- but, you weren't in japan, so there wouldn't be much of a problem there, would it ?
- except his face was / very / red, which you thought meant he was getting sick
- eventually, you two somehow fell asleep,,,
- , , , , ,
- he woke up to the sound of his phone buzzing loudly, charged on his bedside table
- he reached his hand to grab it, but before he could, he accidentally smacked something in the face
- holy shit, that wasn't a fever dream
- kokichi : " huh ? s / o ? you're still here ? "
- he shook you a little bit, to wake you up.
- s / o : " if you shake me one more time i will personally send rain your way for fifteen years. "
- kokichi : " alright, sorry, geez. "
- did he,,
- did he just bring a mermaid from a different world to japan ?
- he looked at you as if you were the most amazing thing in his life
- no one was ever going to believe this one.
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omega-gloss · 5 years ago
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Omegaverse-
Self-Care & Makeup
(This is my first headcanon list! I wanted my first to be for @omegaverse-council for their Omegaverse day, even if it is a little early. Feel free to reblog and add anything you want, or let me know what I can fix/change!!)
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Alphas-
General/Without Mate
Alphas hate using things with scents, so they usually get stuff that smells like generic “ocean spray” and “fresh”
They wash their face with a cheap cleanser and quickly lotion up before running out the door in the morning
Drugstore skincare and makeup, even when they can afford better
Prefers to shower at night
Alphas tend to have acne anywhere but the face
Alphas use physical exfoliants once every two weeks
They are great with drinking water, eating healthy, and exercising (almost to an extreme)
Absolute Minimal makeup (brows, concealer, chapstick)
Combination skin that actually needs minimal effort
General/With Mate
With a mate, an Alpha takes better care of themselves
Mates will buy them special bath bombs and lotions to take care of their Alpha when the Alpha is stressed (the lotion is for massages ;) )
Mates also help match scents that go well with their Alpha’s natural scent (it's a lot of woodsy and warm scents)
Mate- “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU HAVE NEVER USED A FACE MASK?!?”
Self-Care Sundays ( w/ face masks )
Mates doing their Alpha’s makeup
Omegas who make their Alpha do their makeup during their heat because nothing gets them going more than their Alpha in a bold red lip
Betas who make Alphas wear matching makeup as a way to claim them
Alphas dragging their mate to the gym
Alphas realizing there are too many other Alphas at the gym so they work out with their mate at home
Alphas start using their mate’s products because their mate has been away and they want to smell them somehow
Special/Not General
Alphas who love sweets scents despite it masking their own
Alphas deliberately masking their own scents (maybe they don’t like the smell of their own scent too much, or they don’t identify as an Alpha so they mask the scent)
Alphas who LOVE skincare and LOVE doing traditionally Beta or Omega things, like Spa days, going to Makeup stores
Alpha. Makeup. Bloggers. (The confidence! The bold looks!! )
Alphas who take more time taking care of themselves than their Omegas do
Alphas who don’t do makeup at all
Male Alphas who care for their beards and hair like it’s a religion
Female Alphas who feel the same about their hair, but also with their eyebrows
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Betas-
General/Without Mate
Betas are the best at looking good with minimal effort
Five-minute makeup royalty
They love brands in-between drugstore and luxury
Basic bed hair and dewy skin
Betas tend to have dry skin
Bath and Body Works Lotion Collection
Since their scents are usually tame or subtle, they love emphasizing their scents (fruity Beta scent?all fruity products )
Eczema. They usually have eczema.
Or Rosacea
Toners and serums for days
Please give them hydration they need it
Lots of water drinking, average amount of eating healthy and exercising
More into mental health self care
Don’t ever touch their journal
They prefer to shower in the morning
General/With Mate
Betas will sometimes get embarrassed about their scent when dating an omega, so they start wearing scents that matches an Alpha
Omegas will tell them to stop immediately
They do the same with Alphas, but it is less often
Beta couples who share scented lotions and perfumes
Bubble baths with their mate mean a lot to Betas
Bullet journaling dates with a million different gel pens
Doing Six-step face skincare together with soft jazz playing in the background
Betas get embarrassed by their eczema and rosacea
Omega partners are good at helping Betas with their skin
Special/Not General
Betas who only care about and do their nails. Just their nails.
Betas who love essential oils cuz they smell good
Betas who are hairdressers
The best at cutting and buzzing hair
Omegas and Alphas love Betas in the beauty industry because they don’t care if they are traditionally Omegas or Alphas
Betas who make their own skincare brands for other betas for their dry skin
Mates who help with the business
Alphas getting help from Betas because they have no clue what to get their Omega
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Omegas
General/Without Mate
Omegas love taking care of themselves
They have oily skin, so acne care is the most important
Full beats or dewy minimal makeup- there is no in-between
Let them have their 103-step skincare sessions
Omegas never leave the house without something on their face
They love scents that can make theirs even sweeter than they actually are
Luxury brands are their kryptonite
They know they don’t need that gloss, but they just can’t. Help. Themselves. (Literally me)
Bad acne days lead to them not even going outside
They love masks you can sleep in
Invites betas and other omegas over to do DIY skincare treatments
Nests right next to their makeup vanities
Or their makeup kits in their nests
Takes a shower whenever they feel “icky,” which can go up to three times a day
Hate exercise, but love water and eating healthy (except during heats. Please feed them chocolates and ice cream)
General/With Mate
Their poor mate
They are going to be makeup testers
Omegas bring their mate along to pick skincare and scents to make sure they please their mate
Alphas prefer no scents at all, so they aren’t allowed to do anything with scents during ruts
Alphas will buy their fav lipstick or blush to apologize after their rut
Mates don’t care about an omega with acne or acne scars. They will still kiss every inch of their face.
Betas love gifting their omegas products they made themselves
Betas will also teach their Omegas to meditate and journal
Special/Not General
Omegas who hate sweet scents
Omegas who don’t care at all about skincare and makeup
Omegas who start candle and cologne companies, with the scents matching alphas to help other omegas through heats
Omegas who make great masseuses
Male omegas who secretly mask their omega scent, and then keep a stash of all of their self care in their closets for use when they don’t need to go out that day
Omegas who get annoyed at how long it takes for their Alpha to get ready
Gymrat omegas who are absolutely ripped
Omegas who can’t afford luxury brands and totally rock the hell out of drugstore like it’s Fenty
223 notes · View notes
megabadbunny · 4 years ago
Text
In Lovers’ Meeting (5/?)
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“Yeah, about that,” said the Doctor, his nose scrunching up in thought. “Did I mention I’m having something of an identity crisis today?”
A rewrite; dedicated to the absolutely wonderful @davinasgirlfriend​​ . <3
* * *
- Chapter 5 -
Wrung out from crying until her tears ran dry and only choking sobs remained, Rose didn’t hear the soft thump-thump-thumping overhead until perhaps the third thump or so. 
Bleary-eyed, Rose pushed back from the mattress, glancing up hopefully—was it her mum somehow, was it Jackie trying to communicate with her? Had the Doctor returned?—but her mother hadn’t moved, and there was no Doctor to be seen. Instead, Rose’s eyes traveled upward until she saw a black-tipped finger pressed to the glass of the observation window, tapping weakly. Rose followed the line of the finger down to the arm, to the body, up to the neck and the head, where a pale face stared at her from the hospital bed, past cables and cords and an oxygen-mask.
Sniffling, Rose scrubbed the heel of her palm across her face, wiping the tears away. “Sorry, mate,” she mumbled. “You’re probably trying to rest, aren’t you? I’ll keep the noise down.”
The patient shook his head, slowly. He tapped the window again.
Rose frowned. “Is something wrong?” she asked. “D’you need something? Should I go get Saito?”
Another slow shake of the head, and Rose watched as the patient’s arm moved, his finger pointing. Rose followed the line of sight over her shoulder to see cabinets, a counter, a sink, a faucet... 
A faucet, dripping water. Ah.
“Sure, no problem,” she said, hastily dragging her jacket-sleeve across her face to break up the itchy-dry layer of tears and makeup that had crusted on her cheeks. God, she probably looked a mess. “Gotta be pretty thirsty, yeah? Let’s get you a glass or something.”
It was difficult to tell with the mask over his face, but Rose thought she saw the patient smiling a little bit. Flashing him a watery grin of her own, Rose pocketed her forgotten sandwich and turned to search the cabinets, to see if they had any paper cups or anything she could use. “Be over in a tic,” she called to the other room. “Just got to get a cup or something, and a mask, too. Okay?”
The patient didn’t reply, but that was all right; despite how deeply bone-tired she was, it was honestly a little bit of a relief for Rose to give her restless hands something to do, and it was a huge relief that the patient, while in tenuous condition, was still alive. That gave Rose hope for her mum. Gave her a lot of hope.
Busy searching the cabinets, she didn’t notice the flatline crawling across a screen in the other room.
 ***
 Miranda’s body watched him, waiting. Expectant.
The Doctor slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, and he mostly meant it. “I can’t help you.”
Its eyelids fluttered in time with the lights flickering overhead. “Can’t help?” Miranda’s body asked, its voice dropping a register. “Or won’t?”
“The semantics of it are hardly relevant at this juncture, but honestly, it’s a mixture of both,” the Doctor replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Even if I wanted to help you get back home—and that’s a big if, considering that I’m not generally inclined to help murderers get what they want (and yes, in this case the semantics are relevant, because regardless of your motivations, you are, in fact, a bunch of murderers), but anyway—even if I wanted to help, I couldn’t. The holes between realities are sealed once again. There’s no way back.” 
“Liar,” the body growled.
“Afraid not. Not this time.”
“But the box—”
“The TARDIS is gone,” the Doctor replied curtly. “Believe me, I’m not all that pleased about it, either.”
“Liar!” Its face crumpled into an ugly grimace as it pointed an inkstained hand at the Doctor. “We smell it, we smell the magic on you!”
The Doctor’s hand closed around the lump of coral in his pocket. “I’m telling you, I can’t get you across the Void again, magic box or not. But I’m sure we can work something else out.”
“No.”
“Oh, come on, now! It can’t all be death and destruction and chaos. There’s got to be another way. There always is, if you look hard enough.”
“No,” the corpse spat. “Home, or your friends die. There is no other way. No other way. None.”
“Good grief, you’re hopeless!” the Doctor said, pacing in exasperation. “No other way. What utter nonsense! How did you survive when you first arrived here, eh? You didn’t just start snapping up bodies first thing, did you? There must have been some kind of transitional period, some way you survived before you started hijacking human bodies.”
“Hardly anything left,” Miranda’s body told him. “What little survived, lived in the dark, and the damp. In warmth, and the cracks and depths of things.”
“Sounds delightful. Why didn’t you just stay put? Why’d you get the humans involved?”
“Burned,” said the corpse, twitching with the memory of it. “Suffocated. Had to flee.” It shivered, lips twitching. “Even now, it hurts us, scorching, eating away. Had to run.”
It fixed its oily-black gaze on the Doctor. “Still running.”
 **
 Rose adjusted her mask one last time and pulled on a pair of medical gloves with a satisfying smack before sliding into the other room with a cupful of water and a heavy sigh. Whatever the Doctor was working on, she hoped he’d figure out everything soon, not just for the sake of her mum and the others, but because Rose was starting to feel like she might drop the floor at any moment.
She was so, so tired.
“There you go, mate,” Rose said gently, steadying the patient’s trembling hand as he slipped up his oxygen mask to sip from the cup. “I know they’ve got you hooked into fluids and things, but I bet you’re still parched. And nothing beats a cold glass of water, yeah?”
Wordlessly, the patient nodded, glassy black eyes fixed on Rose.
“So I don’t think we’ve met before,” she said after he was done drinking, because the silence in the room was—well, she couldn’t quite put a word to the wrongness of it. It felt almost oppressive, somehow. “Are you new to UNIT?” she asked.
The patient nodded again.
“Well, this is a hell of a new job orientation, isn’t it?” said Rose, smiling wanly. “Sorry your welcome committee’s so rotten. We don’t normally chuck newbies straight into killer alien territory. We usually try to wait a reasonable amount of time. Like at least three weeks.”
With a jerk, the patient chuckled, his chuckle devolving immediately into a cough. Rose winced on his behalf, moved to help fit the oxygen mask back in place over his nose and mouth. But the patient feebly pushed her hands away, opening his mouth to speak. Only a ragged whisper emerged.
“Come again?” asked Rose.
“Jared,” the patient rasped through fluid-filled lungs. “Name. Yours?”
“Agent—I mean, Rose,” said Rose, internally kicking herself. “Rose Tyler.”
She held out her hand for Jared to shake, and he took it. Rose forced herself not to wince at the weakness of his grip or the heat of his skin, burning even through the medical glove. “Nice to meet you, Jared.”
“Mother?” asked Jared, tilting his head toward Jackie in the other room.
Sighing, Rose nodded, watching her mum through the window. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “That’s my mum. She’s in the same state you are. Well, sort of. I mean, she’s still—you know. She—”
“Looks much better?” Jared coughed.
“I was going to say something at least a little more tactful than that,” Rose replied, and Jared laughed again, stifling a cough against his hand. Rose handed him the water cup again and he sipped at it, his face pinched in pain.
“You sure you don’t need me to go get Saito?” Rose asked, and held up the oxygen-mask, ready to slide it back into place.
Jared shook his head and pushed the mask away. “Just wanted water. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” Rose replied, yawning.
“Tired?” asked Jared.
“You’ve got no idea.” Rose frowned. “Or maybe you do. I think you’re a little worse off than me, at the mo.”
“A little bit,” Jared chuckled, his chuckles subsiding back into a horrid, violent cough. Concerned, Rose reached for his oxygen-mask again, but he slapped her hands away—forcefully, this time.
“No,” Jared rasped. “No more.”
Rose frowned. “Are you sure you don’t—”
“No more.”
“But you need oxygen, Saito said—”
“No,” snapped Jared. “We don’t want it!”
Rose’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Jared’s sudden sharpness discomfited her, set alarm bells ringing vaguely at the back of her head, distressingly loud in the quiet room. But she couldn’t quite put a finger on it, couldn’t quite place what felt so wrong.
(Of course it made sense, Rose tried to reason through the exhaustion-fog clouding her head, that Jared might be angry or irritable—she could only imagine how angry she would be, if an unknown killer contagion was slowly eating her from the inside out. But that didn’t explain why he would turn down medical treatment, though—and why wasn’t Saito anywhere to be seen? And why was it so bloody quiet in there?)
Eyes flickering round the room, Rose’s gaze landed on the monitors next to Jared’s bed. Several of the cables sat dangling, unplugged from the wall, rendered mute and useless for the purpose of monitoring Jared’s vitals. But maybe Jared had just grown tired of the incessant beeps and chimes, Rose tried to reason to herself. That seemed understandable enough.
Either that, Rose thought with a mounting sense of dread, or Jared simply didn’t want anyone to monitor his vital signs.
Now the alarms ringing in her head were positively screeching.
“Sure thing,” Rose replied, forcing an easy and casual smile on her face as she set down the cup and backed away, slowly, under Jared’s wide-eyed and glassy glare. “I’ll just leave you to it, shall I…?”
She turned to open the door, then paused, her exhausted brain working overtime to catch up.
“Hang on,” she said. “Did you say we just now?”
A glance over at Jared revealed a slow smile crawling across charcoal-black teeth.
“Oops,” he said, softly.
 **
 “Yes, but what burned, what suffocated?” the Doctor demanded. “What’s eating away at you? None of this makes any sense—it’s like you’re talking about something huge, huge but somehow invisible, just these massive environmental changes forcing you to evacuate, but then why hasn’t anyone else noticed it? I looked over the reports and nothing’s changed in UNIT headquarters in the last twenty-four hours, nothing except—”
He stopped pacing. Except for reports of fresh paint, he remembered. Fresh paint, because of the—
“Mold,” he said slowly, disbelieving.
He turned to face Miranda’s body again, mind racing furiously with the realization, and it was like water rushing into a canyon, filling in the gaps of the story.
“You’re mold,” the Doctor said, louder now.
The corpse did not respond.
“That’s got to be it, hasn’t it?” asked the Doctor, growing more excited by the second. “It said in the reports, this building got a sudden case of mold. Black mold! And they tried to get rid of it, they must have done—and the chemicals they’d use, those would burn, and then the caretakers would paint over the stain—of course!” the Doctor shouted, hands running through his hair as his thoughts raced wildly inside. “Of course, you’d try to escape the burn of the bleach and the suffocation of the paint, but where else would you think to go, where else would suit you, what else is warm and cozy and damp and made up of oh-so-much water? Well, the human body’s just a perfect candidate, isn’t it? And it makes total sense, if you think about it—so many of the symptoms correlate with mold-related conditions like histoplasmosis or aspergillosis! Cos naturally, if you want to transform your human host into a forever-home, not just one you occupy telepathically, but one you inhabit physically, one you live in, you’ve got to make some significant changes to the chemical makeup, haven’t you? Changes that make a human body compatible with sentient mold!”
The Doctor whooped out loud, quite pleased with himself. “Ha! Telepathic killer mold from outer space—now that’s a new one, even for me! New new Doctor, indeed!”
“Now you know our secret. So help us,” Miranda’s body hissed, stalking toward the Doctor. “You must. This is what you do. This is who you are.”
“Yeah, about that,” said the Doctor, his nose scrunching up in thought. “Did I mention I’m having something of an identity crisis today?”
Grinning like the madman he was, the Doctor turned on his heel and sprinted away.
Behind him, Miranda opened her mouth wide and screamed.
 **
 Jared’s face twisted in a snarl as he sprang up from the bed, shrieking out an ear-splitting screech. But his lips and tongue didn’t move and it wasn’t Jared’s voice anymore, it wasn’t any one voice at all, it had to be a dozen at least, all of them screeching as one. The scream rose and wailed like a siren or some kind of shrill-roaring monster, rattling the hospital instruments and vibrating the glass in the observation window and striking like a dentist’s drill to the teeth. Eyes watering in pain, hands clamped instinctively over her ears, Rose doubled over, crying out against the scream.
 **
 Betrayal, Miranda’s body silently told its brethren as it shrieked, its call echoing in the halls with a sound like metal screaming against metal or the piercing howl of the winds in a tornado. Betrayal. Liar. Deceit.
Vengeance? came the reply, many voices clamoring as one. Stalk? Take? Kill?
Kill the mother. Kill the child, Miranda’s body demanded.
Take them all.
 **
 “New rules,” Rose heard Jared hiss over the ringing in her ears.
Rose dove for the door handle but there was a flurry of sound and movement behind her and suddenly a black-fingered hand cut an arc through her field of vision, Jared’s arm lunging from behind to loop around her neck in a chokehold. Without looking, without thinking, Rose grabbed Jared’s wrist and bicep and dropped to the floor, yanking him over her shoulder and flinging him down in front of her with a mighty thwack. Leaping over Jared’s body, Rose wrenched open the door and slammed it shut behind her, swiping the psychic paper over the cardreader to override the controls and lock Jared inside. 
Through the observation window, she watched Jared as he rolled over and slowly rose from the floor, tapping a blackened fingertip against the glass of the observation window. It was good stuff, thick and embedded with wire—Jared was hardly the first hostile being UNIT had had the pleasure of hosting in its medbay, after all—and there was no way he’d be able to break through. He seemed to realize the same thing rather quickly, his gaze traveling from the wire in the window down to Rose. 
Rose wondered if she’d ever felt such a piercing hateful glare. She shuddered.
“Tricky,” Jared spat out along with a mouthful of black blood. Or his body did, anyway; Rose was fairly certain Jared wasn’t in there anymore. “Not enough to save you, though.”
Lights flickered overhead and something buzzed in Rose’s ears. She ignored it. “I like my odds,” she told Jared’s body.
Jared’s eyes flashed. “You shouldn’t.”
“Who are you?” Rose asked. “Cos it’s pretty clear you’re not Jared anymore. So who are you? And why are you doing all of this? What do you want?”
“What does anyone or anything want? In this whole wide universe? More than anything else?”
“Hard liquor and a long nap?” Rose suggested drily.
“Life,” Jared’s body hissed. “To live. To survive. To thrive. No matter the cost.”
“But that cost is us, isn’t it?” asked Rose, glancing down at Jackie, still prone and unconscious on her cot. “The people here. Our bodies, our lives.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The Jared-thing shook its head wordlessly.
“You’re hurting my mother,” said Rose, her voice hard. “Killing her.”
“Yes,” Jared’s body replied, flecks of its oil-spill spit peppering the window between them. “We seek, we listen, we hear. We follow the song. If the song invites us, if a door is opened, who are we to refuse?”
“You can always say no,” Rose shot back.
“We cannot,” said Jared’s body, and Rose could have sworn she saw something sad in its deep black eyes. “We hollow, we inhabit, or we perish. Die screaming. All of us. Each and every one. Fathers and mothers and children alike. All of us, dead.”
Sympathy welled up in Rose’s chest. Shaking her head, she stepped away from the window. “I’m sorry about that. I really am. But you can’t just kill people.”
Jared’s body cocked its head in an approximation of thoughtfulness. “Can’t we, though?”
Then, leaning forward, it whispered, “Haven’t you?”
Rose didn’t flinch. “I’m not gonna let you take my mum,” she said firmly. “And I’m not gonna let you hurt anyone else.”
A humorless smile stretched Jared’s lips thin. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Anyone else—like your magic-friend, you mean? Or your leaders, or your healer? Better hurry, if you want to help them.”
“Why?” Rose asked, dread growing cold in the pit of her stomach.
“Better hurry,” growled Jared’s body. “Better run.”
Mind racing, heart hammering in her throat, Rose turned and sprinted away.
“Run!” Jared’s body shrieked after her, its voice rising and screeching and ricocheting off the walls around them as its fists pounded against the window. “Run! Run! Run!”
 **
 Sprinting back down the stairs, back through the hall, the Doctor skidded to a stop outside the cafeteria—doors shut and blocked, he couldn’t see anything, though he could hear the shouts and sounds of a fight emanating from inside, but it sounded like the security team was holding their own, for the moment at least—and, casting wildly about, the Doctor searched the scattered items littering the floor, dropping to his hands and knees to better rifle through the mess until he found what he needed. Upended cart, rolls of paper goods, dust rags, rubbish bin liners, toolbox, air fresheners, spray cleaners, come on come on come on come on—
“Ha! Gotcha!” the Doctor shouted victoriously, grabbing his prize before he took off running again.
 **
 Run! Run! Run! rung in Rose’s mind, echoing over and over and over again in time with the  rhythmic slap of her boots against the floor. She prayed to whatever god might be listening that the window would hold Jared back, keep Jackie. Because as much as Rose hated it, as much as she hated leaving her, as much as it made her hate herself, she knew there was nothing else she could do for her right now. She had to do what she could to save everyone else in the building, to stop Jared’s kind from harming anyone else.
She’d do whatever it took.
“Saito!” she shouted, her heart pulsing painfully in her throat. “Saito, I’m coming—just hold on—”
Rounding the corner, Rose’s run faltered and slowed into nothing as she saw the physician—unharmed by the looks of it, thank goodness—huddled in a group of wide-eyed and terrified UNIT employees. Saito’s arms were flung in front of everyone else, a last-ditch effort to protect them all from the pitch-covered corpse looming over them.
“Let them go!” Rose demanded, stepping closer.
The corpse slowly turned to look at her, and behind it, Saito shook her head, the motion sharp. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “Get out of here!”
“Let them go,” repeated Rose, stepping closer still. She drew in a shuddering breath. “Take me, instead.”
The corpse looked at her, tilting its head in thought. “A generous offer,” it rasped, “but why accept, when we could take you all?”
Rose’s mind raced for a response. “Except you can’t, can you? Or you already would have done.”
The corpse did not reply.
“What was that you said earlier?” Rose asked. “Cos that was you, wasn’t it? All of you corpses, talking through Jared? That’s why he kept saying We. Like We follow the song. But what did he mean by that, exactly?”
No response from the corpse, and Saito and the others were silent as well, watching, waiting. Tense and afraid. 
“I mean, he clearly didn’t mean music. Not literally. But you are listening for something, aren’t you? You’re listening for a way in,” she reasoned aloud. “Something about opening doors, he said. So you can’t take any old human body and mind you want—something’s got to open the door. Something’s got to let you in, whether it knows it’s doing that, or not. Isn’t that right?”
Looking round at Saito, at everyone huddled behind her, Rose realized. “And most of us humans aren’t letting you in, are we?” she asked breathlessly.
“We only need time,” the corpse replied. “In time, all walls fall.”
“And is that time you can afford to spare, then?”
Once again, the corpse was silent. Seemed like as good a sign as any, Rose thought. Willing her hands not to shake, she peeled off first one glove, then the other.
“For god’s sake, what are you doing?“ asked Saito. Rose ignored her.
“If you let them go,” she said slowly, slipping off her mask, “if you let all these people right here go...”
She swallowed. “I’ll let you in.”
The corpse did not reply, merely watching her. Rose’s stomach churned uncomfortably beneath the scrutiny.
“Deal?” she asked.
After a few agonizing, seemingly endless moments, the corpse nodded.
Rose closed her eyes amidst the lights flickering overhead, breathing past the sounds of buzzing and her racing pulse thundering in her ears. The buzzing-sound filled her skull, reverberating louder and louder until her teeth were practically chattering from it, until the buzz became a drone became a disjointed symphony of mismatched voices, hissing and slithering and shouting and shrieking and demanding to be let in.
Swallowing hard, Rose thought of her mum, fighting for her life just a few rooms away. She hoped Jackie would understand. Jackie, and the Doctor.
She let her mask fall to the floor.
“What have I missed?” piped up a familiar voice, cutting through the noise. With a jolt, Rose’s eyes flew back open to see the Doctor standing at the door, a spray-bottle in hand, a manic grin on his face.
“Traveler,” hissed the corpse, turning toward the Doctor, hand reaching out.
“Or should I say,” the Doctor continued cheekily, eyes twinkling, “what have I mist?”
With that, he lifted the spray-bottle and sprayed the corpse in the face.
Inhuman screeching and a foul stench rent the air as the corpse fell to the ground, writhing and screaming and clawing at its ruined, melting face. Leaping back, Saito pushed the crowd with her, UNIT employees shielding their eyes, their mouths agape in terror. The Doctor continued to spray the body as it convulsed and shrieked in front of them. Thrashing violently, the corpse screamed one last time before it fell still, black fluid bubbling and frothing from its eyes and nose, its mouth and ears. Its face froze into a grotesque mask, features forever cemented in an openmouthed scream.
An uneasy hush fell over the room as everyone stared at the corpse. Several people pinched their noses against the stench.
Shaking all over, Saito stood, a hand clutched to her stomach. “What...” she tried to ask, her eyes glued to the corpse in horror. “How did you...? Is that bleach?”
”It is indeed,” replied the Doctor, spinning the spray-bottle in his hand, not unlike a cowboy with his pistol. Rose was half-surprised he didn’t pretend to blow smoke off the business end of it. “Industrial-strength. Best way to fight black mold.”
“Mold,” Saito repeated flatly.
“Yep! We’ve got ourselves some good ol’ fashioned infectious killer mold,” said the Doctor as he sauntered away from the corpse on the ground. “Well, I say ol’-fashioned, but whether it’s ol’ or new or in-between, I actually haven’t got a clue. Its age hardly matters, either way. What matters,” he said, planting himself firmly in front of Rose, “is that we’ve got a way to stop it, now. Thanks to me.”
“Modest as ever,” Rose replied drily, but she couldn’t help the smile that escaped her. The Doctor grinned widely in reply, nodding.
 **
 “And what about her?” asked the Doctor a few minutes later, as Saito rolled Jackie out to safety along with everyone else, locking the hallway behind her. “How’s she doing?”
“Fairly stable,” Saito replied. “Very little change one way or the other.”
The Doctor clicked his tongue. “Ah, well, better than change for the worse, I suppose.”
Rose watched as Saito pushed her unconscious mother into an adjoining room, forcing herself not to chew on her lower lip or the skin around her thumbnail, like she would have done oh-so-long ago. Her mother didn’t look any worse than she did a few minutes prior, but she sure didn’t look any better, either.
“And you?” the Doctor asked Rose, his voice low against the sounds of UNIT employees chatting quietly in the background. “Are you feeling all right? Any symptoms, anything I should be worried about?”
“Everything’s fine,” Rose replied. Thanks to you, she almost added, but she bit her tongue before it had the chance.
“So we know it’s mold,” she said instead, ignoring every impulse in her body that shouted at her to give the Doctor a hug, no matter how much she may want to offer reassurance, or receive it herself. “And we know we can use bleach against it. Will that stop it from going into people’s minds?”
“Ahh, I was just getting to that! The telepathy. You figured it out already! Of course you did, you’re brilliant. Speaking of which,” said the Doctor, positively beaming down at Rose, “well-done, you!”
Rose blinked. “Well-done, me, what?”
“Well-done, you, with the mandatory psychic training, that’s what.” The Doctor tucked his free hand into his pocket, rocking back on his heels. “Miranda might’ve dropped that little tidbit in conversation, before she...well,” he trailed off, and Rose could tell he was trying very hard not to glance back, not to look at the bleach-stinking corpse that several UNIT employees were dealing with behind him. “Point is, if it wasn’t for your training, we’d have a hell of a lot more bodies to deal with right now. Cos that’s how the mold invades, breaking into the mind first, hijacking its signals to alter the body on a molecular level, after. But if your psychic shields are strong enough—”
“Then they can’t get in,” Rose murmured.
The Doctor nodded. “Exactly. ”
“And of course Mum’s never undergone any kind of training like that, so she wouldn’t be able to stop it,” Rose continued tiredly, cursing herself yet again for her lack of foresight. “And let me guess—each of the infected UNIT employees were compromised, somehow.”
“That’s precisely it. For non-telepaths, psychic shields can be compromised by any number of things, stress or injury or illness or lack of sleep being chief among them. And all of the infected just so happen to be single caretakers of multiple children, busy nighttime workers, or people whose mental or emotional faculties were otherwise placed under an undue amount of stress. But that is not, in any way, your fault,” said the Doctor, grabbing Rose’s hand as if he could hear the self-recrimination flooding her thoughts. “Like I said, if you hadn’t installed that protocol, if you hadn’t taught the people here how to protect themselves against a psychic invasion, you would be contending with a lot more corpses right now. You’ve kept a lot of people alive, who wouldn’t be otherwise.”
Rose’s hand tensed in his grasp, her heart twisting guiltily behind her ribs. “You don’t have to do that, you know,” she mumbled, sliding her hand out of his.
The Doctor tilted his head in confusion. “Do what?” 
“It’s been a rubbish day,” Rose said quietly, unable to look him in the eye, “and I’ve been horrible to you.”
He stared at her blankly.
“You shouldn’t be so nice to me,” Rose muttered.
“I’m not being nice. I’m being honest.”
Rose allowed herself a small smile. “I guess that’s one of the good changes, huh?”
“All right, so let me get this straight,” Saito called out before the Doctor had a chance to respond. He turned to her with his eyebrows raised in surprise, like he’d forgotten anyone else was in the room. “We just spray them all with bleach, and that’s it?” Saito asked, incredulous.
“If by we you mean Rose and me, then yes,” the Doctor replied. “You need to stay here and keep an eye on everyone, keep them safe.”
“But you’ve got a plan? And that plan is bleach?”
“That’s just part of it. Bleach won’t take care of everything; that’ll only corrupt the host-bodies, make them unfit for possession. The real thing is tracking down the physical hive mind and taking it out at the source.”
Rose frowned. “When you say taking it out, do you mean you’re gonna kill it?”
“No, I mean I’m taking it out for a nice dinner at Kitty Fisher’s,” the Doctor teased as Saito walked away, rolling her eyes at them both. “Yes, of course I’m gonna kill it. Any reason I shouldn’t?”
The real you wouldn’t, she wanted to say. “Is there any reason you should?” she asked.
Eyes narrowing in suspicion, the Doctor slowly fished the sonic screwdriver out of his pocket. “You said you’re not experiencing any symptoms, right?” he asked, his voice deceptively mild. “Mind if I give you a quick check just in case?”
“Why?”
The Doctor shrugged. “Just seems a little funny that you’re speaking in defense of the killers trying to murder your mum.”
“Of course I’m not defending that,” Rose said stubbornly, allowing the Doctor to gently tilt her head this way and that as he inspected her with the sonic. “But the mold—as silly as this sounds, it’s got a brain. It thinks, it talks. It’s a person, or people, or however that works. We can’t just kill it, can we? Haven’t we got to give it a chance?”
“It had its chance,” the Doctor muttered. “It is, as you might have noticed, shockingly easy to not-murder-people.”
“It’s acting out of desperation, isn’t it? Just trying to survive?”
“Well, so are we.”
Rose opened her mouth to argue but at the Doctor’s thumb glancing against her lower lip, suddenly she could think of very little else, even as she fought to ignore the warmth that fizzed up pleasantly at his touch. It was an accident, she told herself; this whole inspection was a purely clinical gesture, and he didn’t mean to touch her like that, in a way that made her heartrate speed up and her toes curl in her boots. Looking up at him, she caught his gaze and saw the concern in his eyes and she looked away again, telling herself not to be foolish, not to be taken in, because all good doctors are concerned about their patients, aren’t they? Never mind the purse of his mouth, the intensity of his gaze, the worry knit in his brow.
She couldn’t afford to be distracted, anyway, she told herself firmly. Not right now.
“Are you killing them to stop them hurting anyone else,” she forced herself to ask, “or to punish them?”
The Doctor’s gaze hardened. He pulled back. “Does it make a difference?” he asked.
Yes, Rose wanted to argue, of course it does, but the words didn’t sit quite right in her thoughts. They were her words, her thoughts, that much she knew. But something about them was off. Like a bit of a drone in her head. A bit of a buzz, almost, and in the background noise of her mind, was that a quiet chorus of voices she heard?
She suddenly noticed how very, very warm she felt.
Like she had a fever.
“Come on,” the Doctor said quietly, urging her along with a hand to the elbow. “We haven’t got time for squabbles. We’ve got to round up some more bleach, find the hive-mind, and kill it before it takes anyone else. Okay?”
Nodding numbly, Rose followed, resisting the urge to glance back at the darkened hall and rooms behind them, where she knew Jared still lurked, waiting. Instead, as the Doctor pulled her along, Rose snuck a look down at her hand, mounting dread thundering through her veins.
There, just beneath the nailbeds, she could spot the faintest hint of black.
  ***
  Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Next Chapter (forthcoming)
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number-one-micoverse-fan · 5 years ago
Text
I, a Stranger and Afraid,  In a Land I Never Made
-A. E. Houseman
Inspired by the Pierly Body Swap AU currently playing out on Em’s blog.
------------
Aaron opened his eyes to a ceiling that wasn’t his.
It was a bed that wasn’t his, a room that wasn’t his, and pale, shaking hands that weren’t his.
He stumbled out of the bed, nearly falling over himself, stumbling over bare feet that weren’t his to collapse against a dresser that wasn’t his. His breathing was rapid and terrified and he was afraid of what he would see when he finally looked at the mirror on the dresser.
But he did it anyway.
Jake’s horrified face stared back at him.
Aaron stopped breathing.
He froze, fingers curled painfully tight against the edger of the dresser, something oily and cold slithering through his bones, coiling around his spine to settle in the pit of his stomach. His chest ached. Aaron raised a shaking hand to the side of his face and Jake in the mirror do the same thing. Trembling fingers carded through bed ruffled blond hair, scraped nails that weren’t jagged from chewing across the back of a goosepimpled neck, felt the rapid and erratic heartbeat pulsing beneath quivering fingertips. Watched the Jake in the mirror do the exact same thing.
“Oh my god…” Aaron wheezed and then pressed his hands—Jake’s hands?—over his mouth because that was Jake’s voice. Shivering like he’d been left outside in the cold, Aaron sank to the floor, scraping his back against the dresser as he turned away from the truth in the mirror. He drew his knees up to his chest, ducking his face into his legs, wrapping his arms over his head, making himself as small as he possibly could and trying to remember what breathing was supposed to feel like. The ache in his chest was growing into a dull pain, a palms scraped on asphalt sort of sting.
A knock on the door to the bedroom made him jump, frightened eyes swimming with tears widening as he stared at it. A small whimper escaped and he grabbed fistfuls of blond hair in a panic, pulling painfully at the roots, trying to wake himself up.
“Jake? You up yet? Breakfast is almost ready.”
Not a dream, couldn’t be a dream, dreams didn’t feel like this.
Aaron wanted to be sick.
He didn’t just look like Jake, he was in Jake’s body.
Somehow, impossibly, he was inside his older brother’s body.
But if he was here, then…where was Jake?
****
Jake opened his eyes to a ceiling that wasn’t his.
But it was one he knew.
He was out of the not-so-unfamiliar bed before he’d realized it, tangling in the sheets and crashing to the floor in a grunt that sent the air rushing out of his lungs, taking his unspoken scream of fear with it. He clawed across the ragged carpet, kicking to try and untangle himself, retching and heaving and desperate to breathe, desperate to escape.
His hair fell in front of his face and he shook his head to try and get it out—
Wait.
Black hair.
He froze, shivering on his belly on an old carpet that smelled of age and cigarette ash.
The hands in front of him were not his. The arms were too long, the skin too rough, the palms calloused and the knuckles bruised, the fingernails bitten into jagged, ugly points from nervous chewing. Jake raised the hands—his hands?—shakily to his face, palms scraping a rough and uneven stubble along his jaw, catching in greasy hair that was longer than he was used to. His gaze darted to the walls of the room and though much of it had changed, some of it was familiar; the faded poster of a sports car over the dresser, the second-hand bookshelf cluttered with games and unfolded socks, the dented and scraped silver metal baseball bat leaning against the wall by the door.
This was Aaron’s bedroom.
What the hell was he doing in Aaron’s room!?
Jake heaved himself up and threw the bedroom door open, tripping over legs that were too long and smashing into the doorframe with a hiss of pain.
“Keep it down!” A horribly familiar voice barked from down the hall and Jake felt such a bolt of fear that he scurried into the bathroom and bolted the door behind him without turning on the lights.
He stood shivering in the dark for a long moment, his back pressed against the door, chest heaving as he tried to get himself under control. Only when the room stopped spinning under his feet did he reach out and flick the light on. Even then, it took him several deep breaths to work up the courage to look in the mirror.
Aaron looked back at him, wearing an expression of hopeless terror that Jake had never seen on his brother before.
Jake pressed his hands against the cold surface of the mirror, eyes wide as he stared at his reflection—at Aaron’s face staring right back at him, at Aaron’s hands pressed against the reflective surface.
He was Aaron.
He was Aaron.
He was stuck in Aaron’s body and he was in the same house as his mother.
****
Aaron fumbled his way into a pair of jeans and a faded t-shirt from nowhere. Then he slid cautiously out the bedroom door and into a hall, trailing it into the rest of the house. His gaze darted around, taking in as much as he could, startled by how…cozy it was.
This is where Jake lives… Aaron stared at a photo on the wall, at Jake’s happy and smiling face, the others with him who happily had their arms around him, at the friendliness of it all. It didn’t look familiar. It didn’t look real.
Aaron didn’t think he’d even seen Jake smile like that in his entire life.
A clatter from another room made him jump. He followed the sound to the kitchen where a very large man was bustling around, finishing his breakfast preparations. The smells were delicious and Aaron’s mouth watered hungrily. He moved towards the dining table, eyeing a cup of coffee still steaming next to an empty plate. Pale fingers reached for it only for it to be swept out of his reach by the huge man. The man chuckled in a teasing manner,
“Nuh-uh, mister, this one’s mine. This one, is yours.”
And he pressed a hot mug with the words “OKAY” on it into Aaron’s hand. Aaron starred into the dark coffee warming his palms and then glanced up at the other man; he was attending to the last of the breakfast, humming to himself. Aaron eyed the coffee again and took a small sip as he eased into a chair. He made a face and quickly set the mug down, pushing it away in disgust—decaf.
“Milo up yet?” The man asked, his back to Aaron as he sorted food onto plates by the stove.
“Um…” Said Aaron. Who the fuck is Milo??
“Yeah, we’d probably hear him if he was awake.” The man laughed as he set a couple of plates down on the table and took his own seat, “Well, we can just have breakfast without him. I have the day off so I’m spoiling everyone today.”
Aaron looked down at the plate in front of him; eggs and toast, a few bits of sausage, a couple small pancakes, and some hashbrowns. All of it perfectly cooked and like something straight out of a commercial for a family diner. He stared at it in something akin to awe. He’d never had someone cook him a meal like this before. It was like a dream. A far off dream he’d forgotten he’d had.
“Jake? You okay?”
The man was giving him a look of genuine concern from across the table, a forkful of eggs and sausage resting against the edge of his plate. Aaron swallowed hard, his throat dry, his mouth tasting like dust. His chest was hurting again.
“Um,” His voice caught somewhere in his lungs and came out strangled. He cleared his throat, “Um, yeah? I…I dunno. Um. Sorry, everything just—just feels kind of—I don’t…I’m not…” He trailed off, panic steadily climbing up inside him again, “I just don’t feel good. Today. Sorry.”
“Aw, Jake, that’s okay, don’t force yourself.” The man’s voice was gentle and kind and warm and Aaron felt a lump swelling in his throat, “You go grab a blanket and sit on the couch for now. I’ll bring you some toast later and you see if you’re up for that, okay?”
“Y-yeah…yeah, okay…” Aaron slid out of his chair, dazed by the generosity and concern. He was so stunned by what was happening that he startled badly when a large, warm arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him against an even warmer chest. The man leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Aaron’s messy blond head.
“Get some rest, Jake. You deserve it. Love you.”
The words were soft, gentle, sweet as spring time and crisp as autumn.
They burned in Aaron’s ears and seared his mind as he stumbled into the sitting room, dragging a blanket off the back of the couch to wrap around his shoulders. He curled in on himself, staring into the middle distance, trying to process what had just happened, wondering if he should have said something, said that he wasn’t Jake and that something had happened and that this was all wrong.
Get some rest. You deserve it. Love you.
When was the last time someone had told him they loved him?
When had anyone ever told him they loved him…?
****
Jake pulled the hood over his head and pressed his hands over his ears, trying to block out the insistent noise from the other side of the door. He was curled in the corner of the room, shaking so hard his knees where knocking together, his legs drawn to his chest, trying to tuck all of Aaron’s long limbs into as small a shape as possible.
The room was a mess; the bed was half pulled away from the wall, the dresser had been pushed halfway along the wall, and the bookshelf was tipped on its side, spilling its contents on the floor in a trail that led to the door it now blocked. The door that was shaking in its frame as someone hammered upon it from the other side. It was like a scene out of a horror movie. And to Jake, it was like a nightmare come to life.
He’d taken one step into the rest of the house and made eye contact with Donna, with his mother, and that had been enough. She’d barely started lecturing him when the fight, flight, or freeze instincts had kicked in. And Jake had run. He’d bolted out of the room so fast, the cheap hardwood floor had squealed under his bare feet. Donna had chased after him, yelling at him to get his scrawny ass back here! and I’m not finished talking to you!
Now she was pounding on the bedroom door and Jake was cowering in a corner of his younger brother’s room.
“AARON PIERLY YOU OPEN THIS GODDAMN DOOR RIGHT NOW!” Donna shrieked from the other side, rattling the handle, “OPEN IT RIGHT NOW! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE, GODDAMNIT! YOU GODDAMN UNGRATEFUL BRAT! YOU’RE JUST LIKE YOUR USELESS BROTHER! NO GOOD LEECH!”
Jake squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaking down his face, and pressed his palms so hard against his eats that it hurt. He was hyperventilating, chest heaving, head spinning, his entire body soaked in fear and sweat and adrenaline that had no where to go. A desperate whine escaped his clenched teeth, breaking off into a breathless heave for air. He wanted to scream but there was no sound that could encapsulate the pure horror he was experiencing.
“YOU THINK YOU CAN RUN AWAY!? WHERE WOULD YOU GO, HUH!? NO ONE WANTS YOU! NOT A SCUMMY THING LIKE YOU! GET OUT HERE RIGHT NOW OR SO HELP ME GOD I WILL MAKE YOU REGRET IT, AARON!”
The fear was so great and terrible that it made him wretch, spitting out a dribble of stinging stomach acid and coughing as it burned his nose and throat. The door kept shaking and banging. Jake’s head was throbbing, his arms aching, his legs shaking, his head spinning in a million different directions. His heart pounded, strong and healthy, in a chest that wasn’t his, in a room that wasn’t his, in a house that he’d gotten out of years ago.
His only solace was that at least he couldn’t have a heart attack.
****
Milo, as it turned out, was a little red head in a stupid shark hoodie.
He was annoying and small and covered in freckles. But when the big guy had told him to be quiet because “Jake’s not feeling well”, Milo had settled right down on the couch next to him with a juicebox and a bag of shark crackers and fallen quiet. The television was playing some kind of documentary that Aaron wasn’t paying attention to, staring at the screen without really taking it in.
There was a kid leaning against him.
A kid who was almost as tall as Jake was when they were kids. A kid who loved and trust Jake enough to just…snuggle up to him like it was no big deal. He hadn’t even asked, he’d just. Done it.
With a damn juicebox of all things.
Aaron was curled under his blanket, arms hugging his knees to his chest. He wasn’t…scared. He wasn’t angry. He just couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around the unconditional love Jake’s housemates had for him. Who even were these people? Was the kid Jake’s? Was the big man Jake’s boyfriend? Did they have a third adult roommate?
How many friends did Jake have? (Aaron didn’t have any.)
Did Jake have a job? (Aaron didn’t.)
Where were they even living? (Hadn’t heard from Jake in years.)
Why did Jake get all of this, while Aaron got—
His chest ached and he bit his lip hard. Maybe it was best not to go down that road.
“Hey dad?”
Best not to dwell on things that could have been. Even though Aaron couldn’t help but wonder—
“Dad?”
--would his life have been this perfect—
“Dad.”
—if he had gotten away too?
“Dad!” A tug on his blanket made him gasp and jolt in his seat, jerking around to stare at the boy next to him. Milo was frowning but it was a look of concern, not anger or disappointment. Another expression that Aaron was not at all used to seeing, and one that certainly twisted something inside him into shaky knots.
“Uh, I—yeah, what? Sorry. What—what do you…need?”
“Are you gonna be okay?” Worry softened the edges of Milo’s words, concern and fear and love and distress spilling out of his eyes as they stared imploringly up at Aaron, “Is…is it a heart thing?”
A heart thing?
Jake had a heart thing?
Maybe it had something to do with the pressure under his ribcage. It had been a constant, gnawing twinge in his chest since he’d woken up in Jake’s body, an irritating pulse of pain that stabbed its way through his left side and lodged itself into the general area he thought a heart might be.
Milo was still looking up at him, waiting for an answer, concern and love dancing in the depths of his eyes. It made the inside of Aaron’s chest ache in a different way.
“I’m…y-yeah. Yeah, it’s…a heart thing.”
“Oh.” Milo ducked his head and tucked himself deeper against Aaron’s (Jake’s) side. Almost absently, Aaron put his arm around the boy’s shoulders. When he’d realized what he was doing, he wanted to yank his arm back, put some distance between himself and this stranger, stop infecting Jake’s perfect family life with his presence.
But Milo was warm and welcoming and soft and he relaxed against Aaron’s side with a gentle sigh like he belonged there.
So Aaron put his cheek against soft, red hair, closed his eyes, and let it be. Just for the moment. He let himself pretend, if only just for the moment.
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trashpandaorigins · 4 years ago
Text
The Body Keeps the Score Ch. 21
"You said it yourself bitch, we're the Guardians of the Galaxy." Gamora is finally a part of something. But the past always follows you, eats at you and she must come to grips with her deeds as she tries to build a future. Meanwhile Rocket has never cared much for anyone or anything. Together the two of them discover they are more alike than different and try to heal themselves by befriending the other.
*Content Warnings: Mentions of child/animal abuse, trauma, character death, physical torture/pain. This chapter contains torture, medical/surgical torture/shooting/guns being shot. I want to be super sensitive to folks who might be triggered by these subjects. Please take care while reading*
Title of this fic is taken from the book of the same title "The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma," by Bessel van der Kolk
There's a joke here somewhere and it's on me
I'll shake this world off my shoulders
Come on..., this laugh's on me
You can't start a fire
You can't start a fire without a spark
This gun's for hire
Even if we're just dancin' in the dark
Dancing in the Dark - Bruce Springsteen
“Peter. Get Drax and Groot...get them back to the ship. Now.” Gamora breathed through clenched teeth. Rocket barely heard her, eyes fixed on Groot who whined and scurried back to Quill. The mechanical thing in his heart hammered away, making his chest cinch with pain. His muscles tensed, claws tight against the trigger of Quill’s blaster.
“Gamora,” Quill pleaded, “I’m not leaving you here with these….these,” he turned to the Halfworlder’s, “what exactly are you? Because I picture you like mad scientists but you’re also clearly aliens so….mad scientist aliens?”
“Peter!” Gamora’s eyes stared unbroken at the two figures in the doorway. “Get them back to the ship, NOW!”
Rocket glanced down at Drax, still clutching his side and moaning on the floor.
“Do you trust me?” She hissed, the human man swallowed.
“I could kiss you right now.”
“Not now Peter! GO!”
The man nodded, moving over to Drax and helping the man off his feet. Groot hauled himself up on Quill’s jacket, looking over his shoulder at Rocket. The raccoonoid held his breath, watching the little flora’s eyes wide with confusion.
“Rocket…” Quill turned to him, mouth open trying to find the right words.
“Get out of here!” The raccoonoid sighed, reaching for the gun, and tossed  it to him with a heavy hand.
The man caught it. “Go!”
“What about you?!”
“Yah heard Gams, get outta here! Take Groot and go!”
For once in his life, StarDork listened to him.
“I’ll see you later.”
He watched Quill take one last look at Gamora and moved quickly past the Halfworlder’s, daring them to make any move in protest.
“We aren’t here for them,” the female reprimanded her colleague, the male, who leered towards Quill as he snuck past. “You heard her orders. We are to get Subject 89P13 only.”
Something wet and warm trickled down the raccoonoid’s leg. If he’d been anywhere else, he’d be ashamed. But this place….it stripped all shame all confidence of you. Revealing only your deepest fears and insecurities to the point where you no longer cared about your dignity. Only your survival. The two, Rocket had learned long ago...were easily severed.
The female alien grinned, turning back to him, Gamora and Nebula.
“You really thought you escaped, didn’t you?” They rushed forward, revealing those all too familiar electric prongs.
Rocket panicked, scrambling for anything in sight.
“Quick try this!”
The ringtail swiped the device that the Halfworlder’s gave Gamora from her belt.
“Rocket no! Don’t!”
He charged ahead, pressing the center button on the device, aiming at their chests.
He dropped the device instantly. His back arching, scalding pain alit his small nervous system, sending off pain receptors everywhere, snapping and popping. He swallowed the animalistic whimper building in his throat, curling himself in a ball. His hair stood on end, white electricity snapping and crackling. Every hard stood on end even as he fell to the ground, body twitching.
Gamora ran forward, sword out, beating them back as best she could.
“Nebula get him….aaarrrghhhh!!!!”
The raccoonoid blinked slowly. Through his blurry vision he could barely make out  the male alien, sticking one of the pokers in Gamora’s side, taking advantage of her momentary distraction. She crumpled beside him, her own cybernetics in her face glowing and sparking. If he hadn’t been in so much pain...and so furious...he may have felt a twinge of sympathy. Maybe.
“H...how...l..long have y...you b...ben holding on to ...t..th...that?” He panted through the burning in his belly.
Gamora twisted her neck around, glaring daggers at him from under a messy tangle of her hair.
“About as long as you were spying on me.”
Rocket snarled, teeth bared a nasty reply formed but never delivered. Rough hands grabbed him by the scruff, jerking him up with an agonizing pinch in the back of his neck.
“What are you going to do with them?” Nebula’s rough voice cut through the sound static sparking through the bolts in his back.
Rocket tried to swipe back at them, legs and tail thrashing madly, every move met with flaring stinging agony.
“That is no concern of yours.”
Nebula’s gaze found him, Rocket struggled to keep his eyes open.
“It’s a pity,” the alien woman holding him continued. “Thanos never sold us any of his projects. Even a defective one.” She ran her oily eyes over Nebula with a dehumanizing appraisal Rocket knew all too well. Nebula winced. The alien woman turned back to him, tightening her grip on his fur. “But alas, vermin were free and expendable, so vermin is what we worked with. Luckily Terra had vermin to spare.”
Someone grunted, Rocket clenched his teeth, twisting to see Gamora drag herself up once more, clutching her side. The cybernetics in her face glowing with electricity. She tensed, adjusting her grip on her sword and moving forward. Nebula grabbed her shoulders, steadying her, whispering something he could not hear.
“Come, she will be waiting for him.”
This time, he could not stifle the whimper coming from his throat.
---
“P….please,” he tried, vision swimming.
Where the flark are we?
His mind was sluggish, limbs and tail heavy. He’d been stripped down. Someone was inserting tubes into his back, his ears twitched at the click as it locked into place. Arms hung suspended, head low.
This isn’t a lab...a ship? No. We’re not on a ship. Where’s my fucking gun? Where’s...Gamora? Groot? GROOT?
Rocket tried to struggle, only to stumble and sag with the weight of the tubes fixated to his back and into the front of the bolts of the cybernetics in his clavicle. Thick fluid syrupy and cold made its way from the machine and into his body. He could feel it moving through him, doing who knew what. For all his genius and awareness, for all his sentience, they’d made sure he knew very little about his own making. Rocket, who knew every type of gun on every planet, who could replicate a resecian bomb and could pilot even the most ancient of Esselian crafts….knew nothing of his own biology.
“Please,” he whispered the shadow of the alien Halfworld woman falling over him. She crouched down to him, slit pupiled eyes staring into him. 
“Please...d...don’t take me apart again. I...d..don’t want to be put back together.” The very thought of enduring that again made his body tremble, tubes and wires rattling with his movement. They pulled on him, tearing his skin.
“Oh you won’t be,” she smirked, revealing yellow fangs. “Not this time.”  The raccoonoid’s belly sunk with icy dread.
No….stop it… claw her eyes out! Too tired….can’t move freely...what are they putting inside me? Whymy….dizzy?
“Your creator has no interest in her failed experiment.”
Failed.  
Failed Gamora
Failed Groot
Failed the new version of Groot
Hurt Gamora
Betrayed Gamora
Hurt Groot
Failed
He couldn’t make the words right, thoughts came slow and jumbled and when they did come to him...he couldn’t...couldn’t make his mouth move to form the words.
“F...faile...faild?”
Through blurry vision, he could see the Halfworlder nod.
“You are a cruel and tempestuous wretch. Your existence to an affront to all who breathe. You were given life by the hands of your creator because she wanted to make something beautiful.” The alien continued, words reaching his ears in slow motion. Rocket swayed, closing his eyes. The chemicals coming through those tubes...they were putting things into his blood, but somehow….sucking him dry of any awareness. His mind tried to go through the rolodex of toxins, poisons but couldn’t name any.
A monster….
A monster who betrays their friends
A monster who hit Groot
He tried to flex his paws but the movement was clumsy.
“We will be getting on our way soon enough. By the time we get back your cerebral deprograming will be complete and hopefully she will be able to harvest what’s left.”
What’s left?
GET A GUN YOU IDIOT! FIGHT, CLAW THIS BITCH TO PIECES! TEAR THESE FUCKING TUBES! RUN! RUN! RUN!
Rocket tried to move, to swipe weakly at the woman before him. She only smirked, standing. Eyes looking over his vulnerable twitching form for a moment, making him want to claw her insides out. But his chest only sunk with an invisible weight. She sniffed, and departed. His eyes closed to black before she left the room.
Gamora...she was  asleep during her enhancements...no. Not asleep. Gone. Gone during her enhancements and brought back after. Where did she go? Where was he going? His brain liquidating in his skull, his body pumped with unknown substances. 
How did Gamora do it? 
How did she stand it? What did she cling to when she was falling away?
Failed.
A failed subject. A failed friend.
Rocket hung suspended from the wires and tubes that created and would now destroy him. The worst thing was….he didn’t mind. The ringtail smiled to himself, letting his eyes close again. Chemicals rushing through him in a tumult of nausea and spinning. The dark behind his eyes was different from that of sleep...somehow even that blackness was unnatural.
It’s better...like this. ...G...Gamora will...what are they doing to me? Gamora will...get the others back to the….to the...the thing that will let them get away. RUN! CLAW! TEAR! TEAR OUT THESE THINGS AND GO! She’ll get em to safety...Why’d you come here? Didn’t I escape Halfworld? No. Never left. Groot...Groot where’s Groot? Did I….GET OUT!
Rocket’s mind drifted from one fractured thought to another
Earthen smells…other smells. Gamora….repairing her arm.
Her words.
What did she say?
GET OUT OF HERE! KICK, CLAW, SCREAM! SHOOT! SHOOT THE GUN!
He was drowning….drowning from the inside out. The buzzing and clicking around the room now sounded funny. His tongue tasted salty in his mouth,
Flecks of wood chips from the blast on Xandar.
Groot. Dead.
His own claws tearing through wood...scratching the new Baby Groot.
“Cerebral deprogramming 55% complete.” Voices...far away...like they were muffled underwater.
Rocket clenched his fists, trying to concentrate on the reality of his surroundings. Claws digging into the sensitive pads of his paws. He sniffed, trying to recall what was around him. Chemicals, metal, blood.
GET A G….
What was that word?
The thing that fired bullets that stopped people in their tracks.
The woman with the green skin. The woman he hurt. The tree creature, small and crying for him. Him. What was him? A cruel tempestuous creature.
He tried to move, but only flung his head backward in a coordinated effort. Sending more shocks of anguish through his own skeleton.
I’m sorry…..
I’m sorry….
I never shoulda….
IThing went too far…
I’m sorry…
I’m….
I’m…
I…..I...I...
You, you, you…
You ...the tree thing….you, the green woman
The green woman who hurt as much as he did.
G...m...Gmora
S...ry...Gaamo..r...a
Friend.
Rocket’s mind lost words….vision long since having gone black. He was slipping. Falling… dimly aware of the throbbing in his neck and throughout his cybernetics. He went stiff, straining against whatever the aliens had injected into him. But that battle was lost the moment they’d hooked him to the tubes. Still the raccoonoid went rigid against it. Until he couldn’t. All that bravado and zeal for nothing.
“Deprograming is at 63%.”
“Good. Come, we’ll prepare the ship to leave. By the time we get back it’ll be done.”
“Hang on, these outputs are outrageous! It actually bonded with Subject FC616! Oh look it’s crying! You gotta see these images! 89P13 certainly tried to make a life for itself.”
“Good. She’ll want to see it all upon our return.”
“Regret...sorrow...grief...joy...music…? It makes no sense.”
“It was responding to stimulus from the outside environment. It’s programming filled in the gaps for what it believed it should “feel.” It was designed to do that.”
“Huh. Alright, let’s go.”
The doors slid closed, Rocket’s consciousness ebbed. Sinking away. So heavy.
Gmra...Grot…
---
“Rocket!”
“Rocket!”
Something warm and rough cupped around him...around his...shoulders?
The ringtail fought back the darkness as soon as he became aware of it. Being dragged up from wherever he’d been. An endless void of  black nothing.
A voice.
He blinked, slowly, colors of green and pink?
“Rocket look at me,” the thing before him spoke fast. “I know you're scared, I know you’re in pain. I know how that feels. You know I do.”
Focus….
Can’t….tired...
FOCUS!
“I know this is the most horrifying place in the galaxy for you.” Rocket swayed from side to side, trying to rock himself awake. But the dark void place he’d been beckoned. Pulled at him. So nice, so blank...so devoid of everything.
“I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. That’s why we need to get out of here but I need your gun. Where is it? Can you point?”
Rocket gestured vaguely. The woman...he could tell it was a woman now. But who? She looked in the direction he indicated. Only to return her gaze to him, her eyes. Her eyes were somehow soft and hard at the same time.
….Gmmmm….m...or...ra?
Ga..mora?
Gamora?!
“Rocket….I need you to tell me where they put your gun.”
“...G...mora?”
His chest tingled, his limbs and tail still lead weight. He could barely move. Trying to clear his head of the dense fog inside his skull.
She shook him, his cybernetics fizzing painfully. The fire in his nerves jolted at him.
“Ga...Gamora?!”
“Yes! Good! Now, where is your gun?!”
Something behind her crashed. Screamed.
The ringtail roved his eyes over the room, to the right, then the left. Counters, buttons, monitors.
“Rocket!” She hissed urgently. “Look at me! Do you trust me?”
Rocket blinked in momentary recognition, then nodded.
Gamora leapt upward, grunting as she collided with the figure who’d barged into the room. He watched them wrestle, each grappling for the other. The green woman’s sword came down, again and again, trying to strike, stumbling back, striking again. She twisted, running the butt of her sword into the other woman’s head. The Halfworlder grunted, curling into a ball. Gamora ran forward, yanking the wires and tubes from him. They released with an agonizing twist, the liquid chemicals leaking out clear and congealing. Rocket’s legs flooded, tail trying to find balance but failed.
“Where’s your gun?!”
“G...gun?”
A second figure tore into the room, this one larger. The rushed for Gamora who lifted her sword just in time to fend him off. They sprung apart and she grabbed a handful of tubing in her fists, swinging it towards him. He cursed, stumbling back,wiping the liquid from his face.
Rocket let out an involuntary squeak, the alien woman regained her footing now aimed at him, clawed hands ready to seize him. He tried to spring out of the way, but his body wouldn’t follow direction and he flopped to the ground, only to be caught up in her iron grip. He kicked, clawing.
“Rocket!”
He turned, Gamora backed away from the alien man, eyes searching for anything she could use as a weapon.
“Th...there!” Rocket managed to nod towards where he spotted his jumpsuit any other items, tucked away by one of the monitors. Gamora crouched just before the Halfoworlder punched. She slid on the ground running to the counter, madly rifling through his belongings.
“How does this work?” She screamed, letting out a cry of anger and lifting her blade over her head with her spare arm, she brought it down on the male Halfworlder. He screeched, stumbling back clutching his arm.
“Sh...shoot...e..em w...with the...not handle part!”
“I know that much!”
The alien who held him tightened her grip, Rocket’s vision spun. His mind and body had not fully returned to him.
“You insufferable animal!”
Claws dug into his back, around the tender skin grafted around his cybernetic paneling. Digging into his flesh and yanking at him. The wiring beneath the skin pulled at the veins and tissue
“Rocket hold still!”
Gamora shouted, holding the gun with ready arms, she peered through the scope, trying to get the accurate aim.
“Gamora!”
The male alien lunged for her, knife out and ready to tear the gun from her hands. She turned, instantly and shot.
Rocket watched with wide eyed shock as the alien’s head jerked back and his body collapsed, twitching and went still.
The sharp tear in his skin, raw and stinging brought him back to the face of the Halfworld alien. She sneered, tugging at the panel in his back. The ringtail panicked, this time his body obeyed, more or less. He lashed out with his claws, ears pinned to his skull, mouth foamed with blood and saliva. He buckled and wriggled, ignoring the fiery shock ravaging through his body.
“Hold still!”
“C...can’t!”
Rocket strained to shout, throat rasping.
The alien pulled again, this time eliciting the ringtail to vomit in pain. He pinched his eyes shut against the wrenching in his spine as she tugged at the panel again.
No...no...no...no!
BAM!
Rocket dropped to the floor with a hard thunk, his insides quivering with the impact. His tail twitched, electricity around the panel in his back fritzed out. He reached one arm up slowly, trying to message the area around the damaged panel.
Gamora stormed ahead, past him, to where the alien woman crouched, one hand to her shoulder. Black blood bubbled up from the surface of her wound.
“L….Lady...G...Gamora, pl..please. W...we can compensate you for it. How much...d..do you want? Units? Esken gold?”
Rocket tried to heave himself up, swallowing the blood  in his mouth. His whole body ached. Vision still blurred around the edges. He faded in and out of awareness, recurring shocks of stinging pain waved over him every few seconds, bringing him back to consciousness.
Gamora bared her teeth, looming over the Halfworlder, gun at her head.
“Ga….Gams,” he tried.
“N…..n….name your price….D...daughter of T...Thanos.”
“Shut up!” She hefted the gun, squeezing the trigger.
“Go on…” the Halfworlder grinned. “I’m hardly the first person you’ve killed….y...you enj...enjoy it...don’t y...you? He...he raised you well.”
Rocket stood on shaking legs,
“G...Gamora!”
The woman ignored him, leering at the injured alien woman. Her whole body shaking.
“W...what's it worth to you? We’ll double it. N...name your price.”
She turned over her shoulder, looking at him. Rocket froze, staring at her. Gamora adjusted her grip on the gun but did not look away, her eyes boring into him. The ringtail steadied himself under the crushing weight of her gaze.
She wouldn’t….she said she wouldn’t before...even when she was angry…
“I’m not like you.”
“Go on...d..daughter of Thanos...what will you trade for it? We’ll give you anything you want.”
Gamora looked at him, eyes narrow with contempt. He watched her bite the inside of her cheek. His own stomach turning.
“....well?”
She took a breath, held it. Still staring at him unblinking. He watched her turn her stance, pointing the barrel of the gun squarely between his eyes.
Rocket’s guts squirmed, tail sticking up, hairs prickling.
...Gamora….
She glared at him from above the gun, barely breathing.
“G...gams...I…”
Her brows narrowed,
Do. You. Trust. Me?
Yes.
Her wrist flicked, he flinched, going on all fours instantly. Then blinked, her fingers no longer held the trigger, but rotated the weapon around handing it to him.
It dawned on him too late.
The Halfoworld alien screeched in rage, making her move, leaping upward. Gamora spun, gun still in hand,
BAM! BAM! BAM!
The alien dropped instantly going still, blood pooling under her.
“We have to go,” Gamora ordered, monotone.
The ringtail opened his mouth but the words were still slow.
“Put this on,” she ordered, throwing his jumpsuit at him. “Can you walk?”
“Tsch...of course I …”
She didn’t wait for him. Dropping the gun, turning on her heel, and out of the lab room a limp in her step.
“Gams! W...wait!”
He tripped up, not expecting her to stop. She looked down at him, skeptical.
Flark me,
Rocket reached out, shaking paws grabbing at her boot. He hoisted himself up, crawling his way up her back and purchasing on her shoulder. She shifted her shoulders, glancing at him, waiting for him to secure himself.
He only nodded and held on as she took off, down the dark halls, up the stairs, through the halls. Surprisingly light on her feet, sword in hand, body tense and ready to fight at anything that might leap from the shadows. From his hand on her head, Rocket could feel the nerve tremors beneath her skin, hot to the touch. Her own cybernetics were damaged, the lines of facial enhancements in her cheek no longer seamless but broken and cut between flesh and metal.
Gamora rounded the corner, through another set of doors and out into the open.
Wh...where’s the...Benatar?
“HALT! By order of the Nova Corps, Subject 89P13, Gamora Daughter of Thanos you are under arrest for murdering an officer, lying under oath, and gross endangerment of your crew.”
Gamora let out a cough, chest heaving. She sheathed her sword. She reached up to him, Rocket expected her to throw him off, but she only pulled her hair back from her face.
“Gamora!”
Quill ran down the ramp of the Benatar,
“You got him! C’mon we gotta…..Nova’s here we have to…!”
Rocket couldn’t help but smirk, a pain twinging in his side as he laughed.
“Th...thank you..c...captain obvious.”
“Wow really?! The ONE time you acknowledge I’M  the captain you…”
“B...bigger problems here Quill!”
From his place on Gamora’s shoulder, he thought he heard her huff in satisfied agreement.
It wasn’t much, but it was something.
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mistflyer1102 · 4 years ago
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fish
Summary: A quick recon takes an unexpected turn.
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"You’ve never done this before, have you?"
Etain Tur-Murkan glanced at the fisherman, a male human named Paz, who had agreed to assist them for what she hoped was for just the afternoon. Ronshin was a planet situated in the corner of the Outer Rim all by itself, which at first glance wasn't an issue. It was a generally rainy planet with unpredictable weather during two-thirds of its year, fourteen months on the standard galactic calendar, and its presence had little bearing on the major trade routes or galactic politics in general. At most, it was generally known as a pit stop for the pirates, smugglers, and mercenaries who roamed the Outer Rim, an underworld trading hub rivaled only by the system of Takodana.
Unfortunately, the system’s isolation also meant that the Separatists saw it as an ideal location for what was potentially one of General Grievous's numerous hiding spots. Omega Squad, due to their proximity, had been assigned for recon only. Master Zey had sent Etain, who was in between assignments herself, just in case the rumors about Grievous were true. The alleged base was neatly tucked away on an island in a bay surrounded by sheer cliffs. It took Etain most of the first day to find and then convince a local fisherman to help them: she had pointed out she could get in for a closer look as the security may assume she was just another local. On the second day, Omega Squad scattered to different points along the cliffs, assessing the base for signs of activity while Etain went with Paz to the docks.
At her questioning look, Paz nodded to the boat bobbing along on the water, still tied to a little dock despite the choppy waters. “You're stalling, we’ve been standing here for almost five minutes. You can swim, right?”
“I can swim, but that doesn't mean I want to," she said, glancing uneasily at the water beyond the boat. The cloying scent of fish, which she had been expecting, was a bit stronger than she had anticipated, made her stomach roll. She had recovered her taste for meat a few months after her son had been born, but seafood was still a turn-off for her. Mouth suddenly dry, she inched towards the boat. If you can handle direct combat with droids and have no qualms about getting up close to where General Grievous is potentially hiding, you can handle a small rowboat.
Paz huffed. "I’ll try to make sure you don't go over. If you have to hurl, please do it over the edge. All right, in you get, right where I told you. Keep your center of gravity low and move slow,” he said, as he followed her, gesturing to the middle part of the boat before moving to the post where the boat was tied to the dock.
Etain nodded, pressing her lips together as she carefully slid onto the boat, and then settled in the spot he had indicated earlier. Paz untied the boat, and then walked over and stepped into the boat. He then pushed them away from the dock, and began to row.
Aside from the sounds of the water gently lapping the sides of the boat, the occasional rustle from small whitecaps in the distance, the faint cry of a bird somewhere, and the creaking of wood from the oars, the bay was silent. She drew her cloak tighter around herself as she spotted the base, barely visible with walls sticking out of the island’s natural rocks, and then swallowed back another twist of nausea. “May I ask how long you have been fishing here for?” she asked, looking at Paz in an attempt to take her mind off her own illness.
“My entire life. My entire family have been fishermen and women, I’ll be training my daughters to do it soon once they are old enough,” Paz said, glancing at her. “These waters are considered to be ancestral lands, as are the farmlands surrounding the town. Inheritance can go to either girls or boys, depending on how the marriage negotiations went. You just have to keep a parcel of land, however small, in the family name somehow. It’s meant to keep families from amassing large estates through marriage alliances, no one’s got time for that foolishness out here,” he explained, gesturing first to the waters and the small inlet that Etain knew opened out to the sea, and then to the land and harbor that was slowly dwindling behind them. “The bay, of course, is communal to the fishing families, but even that is divided up amongst everyone. It definitely sucks when  you’re chasing watsi and it goes straight into your neighbor’s patch. The colored buoys out there, beyond the island, mark the patch lines.”
Etain nodded, turning to look past the island. She could see yellow, orange, and red dots bobbing along the water close to the horizon. “Which color buoys are yours?” she asked.
“Bright blue, can’t really see them from here because of the sun. Mine are a little farther out from the entrance to the bay”
Etain nodded. “What about--”
The rest of her words disappeared as a larger-than-usual wave hit the boat along with a strong waft of fish, causing her nausea to surge in her throat.
She barely heard Paz’s warning -- “Over the edge, please” -- as she immediately leaned away from him and bowed over the side of the rowboat to be sick.
For a few heartbeats, which felt like hours, she clung to the side of the rowboat, emptying her stomach. She could feel wood splinters digging into her palms, focusing on the pinpricks of pain. She was vaguely aware of a jolt of alarm from the surrounding cliffs in the Force, but she dared not move again until she was certain she was done. Even then, she remained bowed over the edge, trying to breathe through her mouth as she fought to get her breathing back under control. As her heart rate slowed back to normal again, she could hear Paz humming a song under his breath as he kept rowing, the boat still rocking slightly in the choppy waters. Spitting out the last of the bile, she wiped her mouth with the edge of her cloak before straightening again, blinking tears back as she tried to regain her equilibrium.
“I’d like to say that I’m good, but, um, fish, not really my thing right now,” she said finally, voice still faint to her ears as she nearly pulled her comlink out to tap an all-clear signal back to Omega Squad, but stopped, belatedly remembering the agreement for comm silence. She wondered how much, if anything, they actually saw from the distance they were at: she knew they had sniper scopes, but there had been no warning.
Paz grunted in response. “No worries. It happens to people out here too,” he said.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. When my wife was pregnant, she couldn’t step foot near the bay for months on end.”
Etain couldn’t help her reaction. She froze in place, bit her lip, and stared determinedly ahead, spine ramrod straight. An awkward silence ensued, broken only by the water lapping against the boat. She could sense Paz’s confusion, then his dawning realization as he kept glancing at her.
Paz then sighed. “Well, I didn’t mean to imply anything, my apologies for that, but, well, I suggest you never play sabaac, you’re a very expressive individual,” he said finally, and she turned to him in time to meet his eye. “Your secret is safe with me, I won’t say a word.”
“Thank you.” She was quiet, tempted to reach out to her son in the Force. He was lightyears away on Coruscant, undoubtedly safe, but she missed him fiercely. Does he still remember me at all? She dared not reach out to him, though: something about the little island was making her skin crawl the closer they came to it. “Is there any way we can just hover a moment? I know you said yesterday that this place has been abandoned for years, but I’m beginning to think there’s something...very not good about it,” she said, leaning forward to study the structure. She could see what looked like windows carved into the sides of the rock face with parapet-like constructs sticking out of the rock itself.
Paz huffed. “I’ll try to hang out here, but I suspect there’s a storm coming in soon. If the waters get worse, I either have to go back to the harbor or on to the island,” he said, dragging one of the oars to turn the little boat around so that Etain’s side was facing the island.
“Go back to the harbor. I’ll swim to the island.” She wasn’t going to risk his life just because she was squeamish about fish. She turned, taking her comlink and sealing it into one of the waterproof pouches she’d brought just in case of an emergency. Not that the pouch would help much if it got dunked since it was meant to protect against rain, but it was worth a try. She started to pull off her cloak.
“What about the kid?”
Etain glanced at him as she wrapped the cloak into a bundle. She was grateful she had thought to wear long-sleeves today, she could feel the cold winds biting at her exposed hands and face. “I’m doing this for him, his father, and his family,” she said, setting the bundle aside as she eyed the distance between the boat and the island. Lightsabers, as she’d learned a long time ago, held up just fine underwater. The water is probably going to be cold, lovely. “And if it turns out to be Separatists, they’ll be gone before they cause you and your family any trouble,” she said, catching a glimpse of the colored buoys in the distance. She could sense both anticipation and curiosity coming from the commandos: she was going off-script now, but she had to wing it. The original plan had been that she would assess what she could from the water, but the Force was too cold, too thick and oily to be coming from someone who was not Force-sensitive.
General Grievous could wield lightsabers, he had fast reflexes, but according to survivors, he did not resonate in the Force the same way Force-users usually did.
Keeping low to the boat, she pulled out her underwater breathing device and slipped it on. She sensed Paz leaning to the opposite side of the boat to keep it level, and then once she felt him steady himself, she then slipped over the edge of the boat and into the water.
The cold water stole her breath away, causing her to instinctively gasp in her throat and create an uncomfortable tightening in her chest, but she forced herself to remember to breathe through her mouth, not her nose. For a moment, she allowed herself to float weightlessly in the deep, dark waters.
Then she pushed forward towards the oily presence that she could sense ahead.
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gogetawaydreamer2 · 4 years ago
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@writervega taking a moment to post this on here just in case it doesn’t upload to the Second Home. I’ve no idea where the hell I was going with this one but I hope you enjoy it somehow. Or maybe are even able to decipher it? 
In Dreams
The soft pelting of rain as it hit the glass of the cafe window brought her out of her thoughts. She day dreamed in sepia tones as thoughts of honeysuckle and jasmine filled her senses.
“God all it ever does here is rain.”
She muttered to herself as she cleared the second table of the day, brushing crumbs into a pile and sweeping them off with a bleach soaked cloth.
She had left sweet familiar warmth and the sun for sharp clean notes of bleach and salt kissed winds as the bitter sweetness of a dark roast wrapped itself a deep lush note of cherry and apricot. A pounding noise dripping with musky angst and tanging with metal and a primal musk of heavy drum beats and pounding bass lines.
“Are you going back home then? Just to see if it’s changed?”
The concerned voice of her best friend pulled at her heart. Surveying the clothes she had the maid set out of her to pack and heaving a sigh. She had reached a cross roads. Stay and bury her head in the sand until the ancient danger she had left behind was right up to her face or go and confront it once nd for all and kill it at it’s source.
“Yeah, I’m actually packing. I’ll call you when I land.”
“There’s no way I’m letting you go alone! I’m meeting you at the airport.”
“You don’t have to, Hel. Dave’s going to.”
“Three are stronger than one, eh? Love you and see you there.”
That was an hour ago before Colleen found herself sandwiched between a a rapidly panicking Helene as they hit pockets of turbulence and a husband that was determined to dig up any sort of missed clue in how to defeat the ancient evil Colleen thought she had left behind her so many years ago.
“It sounds like this might be what it is. A Dream walker, feeds on your deepest darkest fears and bad memories. Yours must have been fed daily.”
“Thanks Dave. Way to make a girl feel special.”
But it was true. Her monstrous black void in her life had been fed endlessly most days. Then, when Minnie had gotten sick and then Dad and the day her mother died. She had long ago been convinced that the house had been constructed on soured ground. The dreams she remembered being plagued with as a child and feeling the things out in the front yard there was no way something wasn’t attached.
A few years ago she thought that maybe her time in therapy had helped her until she dredged up something from the very depths of her mind. The musky smell of summer’s meadow soap.  It had been incredibly cheap soap but it was on sale and they were stuck grocery shopping. Colleen remembered liking the smell as first until red itchy welts came. It felt like her skin was on fire. Then the bruises and the yelling. There wasn’t anything else to bathe with so she’d just have to make due.
“Hey, Colly. It’s okay. It’s okay.”
In an instant she blinked and she was back on the plane headed towards the childhood home she had left so long ago.
“You were a million miles away, babe. It’s okay.”
Settling into his shoulder and reaching out for her best friend’s hand she sighed. She felt safe. A tiny wave of dread hit her for a moment. What if this was the last time she felt like this?
“Thank you. Thank you both for this, for
always
being here.”
In the time it had taken her to blink once more she had fallen under the calm of sleep once more. Down the rabbit hole Colleen ventured one again.
Somewhere over Chicago the music shifted. Pop had taken over and the waving undercurrent of darkness was lifting. It was easily forgotten in a town flooded with Laura Ashley florals and Jos. A Banks suits and tweed sweater vests. Ivy League fever was at it’s highest point yet. This was where she wanted to get lost. Live the perfect lie. For a moment she caught a glimpse of a wedding to a chiseled jawed bespectacled day trader who was writing a novel. A cute little starter home and then the urge to have a baby.
The quiet bliss of a family of my own.
Raised differently in comfort and love. Then she caught a glimpse of another woman; a blonde she could never  truly compete with. Then she saw his best friend over her,, the man who had lived next door to them for years and whose wife was sleeping with her husband. It had started off innocently one day, he had spotted her in the store picking up the weekly shopping when her little bundle of joy now two months old has screamed her head off. He had seen her struggling and often wondered why Jim hadn’t stepped in to help, it took two after all. Not that he would ever truly know because Evelyn was convinced that their infertility as a couple came from him. It didn’t.  The reason he knew this was because he was staring at the end result of a coupling that had taken place in the throws of summer. The child was happily babbling to herself and playing with the necklace that hung from her moth’s slender tanned neck.
“Looks like you’re out and about today with company.”
“Oh. Yes, she’s proving to be lovely company while Jim’s away in…Japan I think?”
“Oh. China maybe.”
He volunteered as she placed her purchases up the belt and reached for her credit card. Alex covered for his two timing friend, the only vaguely asian about his weekend was the apartment he was renting secretly over in china town.
“Could be, he’s been traveling so much I just can’t keep track. I was just making some dinner, would you like to join me? It must get awfully lonely over there all by yourself.”
“It does but you know how it is.”“I do. So join me, I’ve got that wine you like.”
Two bottles of wine and one very rich dinner later and they were sprawled out in front of the fire pit and gazing at the stars. Ashley had been tucked up away in the nursery and was dreaming nothing but sweet dreams.
“You know this is nice. Jim never does this anymore. It’s never just the two of us though.”
It dawned on him that maybe she was as lonely as he was. True, Colleen and Jim were married and they’d had a child but it was always like they were living by some sort of contract. Jim’s book was going nowhere while Alex had found a living breathing muse in his next door neighbor. A well placed kiss and a touch so gentle it left both of them wanting. Neither thought of the repercussions of their actions as they fell back into the expensive bedlinen. Over the course of the next few weeks the evidence of their night together began to make itself known. Their spouses were facing much of the same situation and thus began the great charade. More than a few heated arguments were to be had behind closed doors of course ) about the children’s puaretntiy. Truths were told and it was settled, they would officially switch. It wasn’t unheard of this sort of thing happening especially with early ,machine arranged marriages. And they all lived happily ever after.
“Colleen!”
Another blink and she found herself somewhere else. The high dry heat of California hit her. 
“Oh god, I’m back in high school!”
Judging from the stack of books she was clutching and the oily thick feel of poorly chosen foundation against her skin.
“Are you going to Jason Halliday’s party tonight?”
“Uh…yeah. If my mother found out she’d seriously flip. Maybe I could pay Mikey to watch Rose.”
Phase one had gone off without a hitch as she  had what seemed to be an endless amount of favors from from her older brother. Now she just had to figure out what to wear. A shower and a close examination found the I’d have to wear a pear of jeans and a tank top. Maybe a pair of sandals and a denim jacket. There. Done. And out the window I go.The one nice thing was what their house’s pretty much line up directly behind the housing estate Helene lived in so we would meet up at her house and get ready and take her car out. 
“Are you nervous?”
“What? Why would I be nervous?”
“Oooh…I don’t know maybe because a little birdie told me that Jason’s gonna ask you out.”
”I highly doubt that. Move your bang to the right a little.”
“Thanks and you don’t know.  I think he’s going to .”
“Ten bucks and you’re on.”
The drive up to the Halliday house was a long one clear across town it seemed. Standing there for a moment the burn of pot smoke stinging her eyes.
“Hey, Mark, put that out. Colleen you came.”
“Yeah, Surprise. Thanks for the invite.”
“No problem.”
Then Jim had shown up and ruined his chance with the girl of his dreams. 
“Maybe we could start over, Jason.”
“Sorry. Just taking the paths not yet taken.”
“I hope they’re not better than I am.”
“Nothing could be as good as you are for me.”
“Do you promise me?”
Opening her eyes she felt the movement of air. She was back in the suburban affair with the next door neighbor.  How many dreams am I going to have in one flight? She wondered and then shook off the absurdity of the thought. 
“Cross my heart and hope to die I do.”
What if Jim had never been made partner so quickly or if he had taken the offer his uncle had given him. Their life would have been complete worlds away from where Colleen found herself these days.
“Oh god she’s back on the relaxers.”
“No, I’m not. I’m thinking, something you should try sometimes.”
Ornate decor and no children. Ah, if they had taken Peter’s grandfather’s offer. Living in New York and summering in the Hamptons. 
“You’re looking quite lonely.”
“Perhaps if my the man I married wasn’t off cavorting with the local ladies of the evening I wouldn’t have to look this way.”
He said nothing to her, merely staring her down before looking past her out the window of the tiny seaside town they were now summering in. This had once been her hometown and she often wondered what would have happened if she had stayed.  Pulling up the long expanse of paved driveway she sighed to herself as the car came to a stop. 
“I’ll be by the pool. Off to your travels or wherever it is that you’re going.”
Her reward was a curt nod from the husband she barely knew. He mentioned having to back to New York to finish something and then it was on to Singapore.  She now paid no attention to his trip itinerary, it simply wasn’t worth it. Wandering the large front foyer she greeted a few of the staff with a small smile.
 “Mrs. Ellingham, lovely to see you again.”
“Hello, Winnie. Please, call me Colleen. I think I’ll be staying through the holidays so you and I will be seeing quite a bit of each other.”
A small if be it slightly alarmed smile settled across the maid’s features before she showed the woman paying her wages to the largest bedroom in the house. A room to behold if ever there was one. White marble and ornate silver and green decor could be seen. A lavish sunken tub with more jets than was seemingly possible was at the center of the room situated just below the circular skylight and flanked by rounded marble pillars. The powder room with it’s lush spring green colors was hidden off to the left and to the right there were full length mirrors refracting the view from the back garden and the pool area. The scent of summer roses and jasmine floated in the wind. The currents surrounding the massive bed draped in emerald green bed linen floated on the breeze. A quick change of clothes and Colleen saw herself overseeing the grounds before settling in on a lounger by the pool. Crystal blue water glinted back at her as she basked in the warmth of the sun.
“Maybe this was how it was supposed to be?”
She quieted quietly to herself before the sun was blocked out by the form of a man and the smell of Marlboro smoke.
“Who says it has to be any other way than how you yourself imagine it?”
Opening her eyes she saw the familiar form of a man she had known years ago and smiled. 
“How open minded of you, Mr. Halliday. What are you doing kicking around these parts?”
Given his dressed down state versus how Colleen had seen him a few years ago a brokers luncheon Jason was on vacation.
“Well, just settled into the place down the road from here and came by to see how the new owners of Thorncrest were doing.”
“Owner and you’re speaking to her. Lovely thanks.”
“Ooh, finally took your Ivy Leaguer to the cleaners huh?”
A small smirk played at her lips as she sat up and went about offering a glass of chilled lemonade to her impromptu guest. 
“Well, lets just say that after the summer season’s done you’re going to be seeing quite a bit more of me around here and with quite a bit more money than I care to know what to do with.”
“He just doesn’t know it yet?”
“He will after he’s properly served. So….does the Quincepoint place have a lady of the house or are you still trying girls on for size?”
A quick exhale of smoke through a grinning face answered for him. He always smirked like that when he was nervous.
“Nobody since you.”
“Well, that’s good then because it’ll save your closet space with my things here. If you’re good I may even give you a dresser drawer of your very own.”
“Man a guy can dream can’t he?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve dreamt of seeing you back here in this house for years and now here you are. It’s almost too good to be true, isn’t?”
Another plume of smoke was exhaled and Colleen found herself startled awake once more. Totally unsure of where she was or exactly who she was at the moment she studied her left hand. No large gaudy wedding set dripping in gold and diamonds. Just a simple silver band that was enveloped by a hand that from the looks of it, was used to doing office work. Blonde floppy bangs shielded a bespectacled fair face of the husband she shared a name with. Reaching out to trace the fine features of the Romanesque nose and finely crafted cheekbones a small shuddered passed over her seat mate. The slight stubble of a five o’clock shadow pricked her gentle touches as he moved closer. His eyes would open in a moment but what color would his eyes be? So far she had seen him in every single dream she had had since starting work on that book of hers. Blue. Like the summer sky and kind as she had ever hoped. 
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
A slow soft smile spread across his face as he rose from his slumber. It was always him that she wrote her male leads. He held a spark of something true and endless. Love and devotion were stamped upon him from the moment he had been thought of. Nicholas Shelley truly was the fitting piece to the puzzle that was her life.“Still feeling weird?”
“No, not really. I think I was just over tired…didn’t mean to worry you, Nick.”
“I figured that on my own when I put your carry on in the overhead and you were out like a light. Helene sends her love and says she’ll be meeting us at the lake house when he land. Something with Joey’s touring schedule or manager to work out.”
“Oh, okay then.”Something grabbed at her heart as panic started to rise. “You do know just how much I love you…right?”
Fair brows shot towards his hairline behind the curtain of bangs. “Of course, I do. Do you know how much I love you?”
“Yes. I’m…I’m sorry it’s just the deadlines and the rewrites and god I’m tired. I just didn’t think I was saying it enough or loud enough for you to hear me. I’m sorry I’ve been off in my own little world.”
‘It’s okay, I get the same way. It’s the nice think about being married to another writer, we know each other’s moods better than our own.”
Reaching a hand up he guided her head back towards his shoulder and she settled for a moment. Clean linen and woody sea was the comforting smell she always took from him. It righted her and her heart slowed back into a normal rhythm.  He carded his fingers through her long dark hair once more as he always did when she panicked and they had a moment together. 
“Never doubt my love for you because it is deeper than the ocean, stronger than steel, and even more endless than the night sky.”
She never doubted his words were true because she felt them. There, in her very heart his words and declarations were written and they would forever be safe. 
“I love you, too. More than you’ll ever know.”
No matter how many dreams she had or books she had written she knew that her true love's kiss would always be the most beautiful of all. His love for her as complete as hers was to him. They were simply crafted for each other.
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sundayskin · 5 years ago
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Sundayskin’s SPF Guide 2019 ☀️ (Updated!)
Hello all! How is everyone’s skin doing? So I have an old version of this spf master-post here, but, well, that’s old, so I decided to make a newer (hopefully improved) one. There’s not going to be too much structure with these reviews, I’m just going to run through them from 1-10, and give you guys a little info with suggestions for each. I’m going to try to make this short, but I gotta cover 10 spfs, so bare with me! Also, please bare in mind my thoughts are based on my experiences, okay? Just cause I may like or dislike a product doesn’t mean you’ll have the same experience! Let me also point out that all of these products have ingredients that are not comedogenic (irritating/pore-clogging/acne-causing) or have a low possibility of being comedogenic (save for #10). Plus, all of these spfs provide a decent amount of UVA and UVB protection that should be enough in your daily life (some provide better/stronger protection than others, though). Oh, and I’ve got dry/normal, sensitive, acne-prone skin btw. Alright, grab your snacks, tea, coffee—whatever is your thing—and let’s get started!
1. Supergoop! Superscreen Daily Moisturizer SPF 40 PA+++: This is definitely one of my favorite spf products I’ve tried, if not my absolute favorite. This one is a light cream moisturizer with the bonus of spf coverage, is non-irritating, and has no visible white cast. I absolutely think all skin types would enjoy this, especially those that struggle with spfs that break them out or spfs that are too pigmented and/or heavy/oily. If you’re annoyed by the idea of having to apply a moisturizer then an spf, this may kill two birds with one stone for you. I personally plan to repurchase this again and again. 
2. Skin&Lab Fre C Sun Lotion SPF 50+ PA++++: This has a light gel texture with no white cast. The finish of this gives a beautiful dewy look to the skin (think glass-skin), so while this is lightweight, it might feel/look greasy on oily skin types. If you aren’t about a dewy/glowy finish, I might skip this one. As a dry/normal skin type, I love this spf and grab for it regularly. It has never broken me out, either. I wrote a full review for this here. 
3. Nivea Sun Protect Super Water Gel SPF 50 PA+++: This is probably the most lightweight spf on this list; it has a very watery gel texture with no white cast. This one is most likely not going to irritate your skin, and it really absorbs in well and doesn’t feel like anything on the skin. I think everyone would enjoy this spf, especially those looking for an extremely lightweight, clear-finish spf.
4. Jigott Whitening UV Sun Block SPF 50+ PA+++: This spf is meant to brighten the complexion, thus it does have a slight white-cast finish which is going to be more apparent the deeper your skin tone is. I am fairly pale, so the bright finish looks very natural and blends in well with my skin. This has a thin, cream-like consistency and is an spf that sits more on top of the skin rather than sinking in and disappearing. If you absolutely loathe white cast, I’d skip this one. If you want a moisturizing, brightening spf, this may be a good one to try. Beware though, this one can start to peel off the skin if rubbed in too much and/or is applied on top of a lot of layers of other skincare. I’ve found applying this with a makeup sponge prevents this issue. 
5. A’pieu Madecassoside Sun Cream SPF 39, PA++: This one resembles the texture and finish of #’s 4 and 9. It has a thin consistency that dries quickly, so blend it quickly on hydrated, smooth skin. It’s generally quite pigmented, but if you blend it out well the white cast should disappear for the most part. My deeper skin tones might think this has a visible white cast while my lighter tones might find it disappears completely when blended in. This one also doesn’t feel crazy heavy on the skin and, consequently, isn’t that moisturizing. I think this suits all skin types, just bare in mind the consistency and finish. I wrote a full review for this here, but I pretty much say the same things. 
6. Missha All Around Safe Block Essence Sun Milk SPF 50+ PA+++: Like the name suggests, this one has a thin, milky texture with no white cast when blended out well. I think this has a very crowd-pleasing texture and finish and is an all-around good spf (see what I did there?). Especially a good choice for those looking for a lightweight spf that gives a little moisture as a bonus. 
7. Cosrx Aloe Soothing Sun Cream SPF 50+ PA+++: This is a moisturizing, medium-heavy cream spf. It definitely has white pigment, but blending it out well should eliminate any major white cast. To me, this can become a bit oily on the skin, especially in humid/hot weather and/or if you have oily skin. I think this might be best as a cold whether spf or for those with dry skin. Likewise, if you’re searching for an spf that is moisturizing enough to serve as a moisturizer-and-spf-in-one, this might be one to try. For me (personally!), I enjoy layering several products on for my skincare routine and oftentimes I just want a lightweight spf to top it all off, so I don’t personally grab for this one often. 
8. A’pieu Pure Block Natural Sun Cream Daily SPF 45 PA+++: I think, like the Missha one, this spf is a crowd-pleaser in terms of being a good, every-day spf for all skin types. This one has a lightweight gel-cream texture, no white-cast finish, and gives off a natural finish (it’s not too dewy/moisturizing nor too matte). While it gives a little bit of moisture, it’s not heavy at all. If you don’t want to explore too much in terms of spfs and just want one that is good for every-day use and you know will work fine with your skin type, I’d consider trying this one. 
9. InstaNatural Vitamin C Moisturizer SPF 30 Broad Spectrum: This one has a thin, dry texture and finish, similar to #5. I can guess that those who hate any white pigment at all in their spfs might not prefer this one over more seamless-finish spfs. No matter how many times I’ve tried applying this, it always starts to crumble and the application becomes patchy and flaky on the skin. But this one has good reviews elsewhere it seems, so I’m not sure if it just doesn’t work well with my skin or if I somehow am applying it with the wrong products underneath, etc. Either way, this might be better for oily skin types that don’t mind an spf that does have some white pigment (it’s mineral based, so it’s to be expected really). Other than that, I wouldn’t personally recommend this as a top choice when it comes to spfs. 
10. Supergoop! Defense Refresh Setting Mist SPF 50: You’re probably wondering why I even included a swatch of this one—one reason was to keep this post format consistent, another was to try to show you guys the finish. The finish is dewy and a bit shiny, so if you look closely at the “swatch” you can sort of see that shiny finish (maybe? lol). Anyhow, I got this spf mist with the hopes I could use it throughout the day to easily reapply spf because reapplying a cream type is a hassle. But the finish of this is a bit too oily feeling for me (it feels and looks exactly like your typical spf body spray) and the spray dispenser isn’t a fine mist like it should be but rather sprays unevenly. Plus, I realized after purchasing this that is has “alcohol denat”, an apparently very irritating, possibly acne-causing ingredient that you should ideally avoid using. I can say that this may have caused a few light break-out areas on my face after having it on my skin for awhile. Thus I don’t recommend this mist, especially for acne prone, oily skin types—this is a definite no-no. But who knows, maybe your skin is super resilient and you don’t have oily or acne-prone skin, so it might be an okay setting spray option for you, even despite the alcohol denat, because I know “bad” ingredients don’t always have negative effects for all skin types (especially considering we don’t know the specific percentage included of such ingredients most of the time). In any case, I think you all are better off searching for a better spf facial spray. 
If you got this far, thanks for reading! Remember to wear your spf everyone! ♡
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harryseyebrows · 6 years ago
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Gryles, Harry’s just found out he’s preggo, they’re together but it’s not planned, harry is happy but nervous nick won’t be. How does he tell him?
okay. so i finally got around to doing this/finishing it. here’s 2.3k of a rough edit, lightly proofread by yours truly. i hope you like it!
Harry uses his key to Nick’s flat to let himself in.
The groceries he picked up on the way over are still in the bags, sitting on the kitchen counter. He can’t even bring himself to put the milk away.
There’s a heavy weight sitting in his chest, making his ribs feel like they’re all going to crack and spill out his guts for everyone to see.
After over a week of near-constant nausea, he finally made an appointment to see the doctor. So just a couple of hours ago, Harry was sitting on crinkly paper and asking why he’s gained almost half a stone since his last visit four months prior. A simple blood test gave him his answer.
He forced himself to hold it together in the office, politely declining the doctor’s offer of a cup of water when she told Harry he’d gone pale.
“I’m fine,” he said, and started to laugh, a nervous habit.
Dr. Clarke had put a gentle had on his shoulder. “Is this news surprising?”
“Very,” Harry blurted. He took a deep breath and clarified. “Not… bad news. Just wasn’t expecting it. At all.”
“It happens more than you think. You have a partner, correct?”
Harry’s palms went clammy at the mention of Nick. “Yes.”
Dr. Clarke’s mouth had twisted, her tone careful. “Will he be supportive of your decisions? When you tell him?” The unspoken, You are going to tell him, right? hung in the air.
Nick loves kids and babies. And he loves Harry. But Harry let himself fall into a pit of doubt, wondering whether or not Nick would love those things in tandem. A baby with Harry. Their baby. They just-- they haven’t planned for this. Haven’t discussed it, ever.
Harry can’t part with this little life they’ve created, only nine or so weeks along and the size of a cherry, according to a Google search he did in his car after leaving the office. Nick is entitled to feel however he wants, but Harry just has to tell him first, which feels like such a Herculean task and all Harry really wants to do is crawl into Nick’s bed and nap for a week.
His baseline lately has been feeling slightly nauseous, but there’s a new layer to it now, perched on the edge of Nick’s sitting room couch with his leg bouncing without his permission, picking at his cuticles even though he’s tried to break the habit. For the past year, this has felt like his home more than his own apartment, but he currently feels like a stranger, like there’s a fist around his stomach, squeezing and making him feel ready to vomit.
A baby. He’s going to have a baby.
Beside being ill -- morning sickness, he realizes now, though it seems to be more all-day-sickness -- he doesn’t feel that different. Prodding at his lower belly reveals, well, nothing. It feels exactly the same, despite his weight gain. When he was getting ready earlier, he didn’t think he looked any different either, no obvious signs in his face. His skin has been a bit trickier, though, more oily and breaking out more often. Perhaps “the glow” comes later, or Harry is destined to be a slug for this entire pregnancy.
He can’t quite wrap his mind around it yet, that he’s really pregnant. He wonders when it will start to feel real. For now it’s just a concept, something that seems so far away.
Two months in already, though, his brain helpfully supplies. That’s-- only seven months left, then. So many days of passed without him realizing what’s been at stake here. Weeks of ignorance and carelessness. 
His panic increases, thinking back to the things he might have done in the past two months that could have hurt the baby. Alcohol seems like the obvious one -- he’s not a huge drinker, but surely he’s had a glass of wine or two lately.
He starts going down the list of things that he knows are bad for pregnant people, things he’s learned from friends and family. Secondhand smoke. When is the last time he had sushi? Caffeine; he just had a large iced coffee this morning.
The next thing he knows, Nick is squatting in front of him. His mouth is moving but Harry can’t hear what he’s saying. How long has he been here? How did Harry not notice?
Harry is distantly aware that he’s hyperventilating. Time feels like it’s moving excruciatingly slow and too fast at the same time. This probably isn’t good for the baby, either.
The baby. Harry has to tell Nick about the baby. Their baby. Half Nick’s, because they fuck without condoms all the time and Harry has never been the best about taking his pill.
Nick looks really worried now, big hands on Harry’s shoulders, still talking. Harry thinks he can make out, “What’s wrong?” from the way Nick’s mouth is moving.
“I’m gonna puke,” Harry says, surprisingly coherent.
The fog lifts a bit and Harry can hear again, blood still pumping loudly in his ears. His stomach is doing flips in his abdomen, though.
“Bathroom,” Nick says, pulling Harry up and guiding him quickly down the hall.
As soon as Harry’s knees hit the tile floor, he’s retching into the bowl. Unlike his morning/all-day sickness, nothing comes up, but his body doesn’t quite get the memo, because it’s nearly five minutes of gagging and spitting -- the decidedly unsexy kind -- before he gets a moment of reprieve.
Nick has been rubbing his back the entire time, offering assurances and being characteristically kind, soft words filling up the room over the noises of a person being violently ill.
After another round of fruitless heaves, Harry feels safely in the clear when his organs stop trying to evacuate themselves.
While Harry flushes nothing but saliva and toilet water, Nick asks, “Did you eat something bad?”
Harry shakes his head, slumping back against the wall.
Nick looks weary. “It’s not a bug, is it? Because I love you dearly but I don’t fancy getting a virus.”
“Not a bug,” Harry says, voice rough and scratchy. He can’t look Nick in the eyes, afraid that he’ll know right away, know that Harry’s hiding something.
“What’s the matter, darling? I walked in and you were already upset. You scared me.”
Harry’s eyes start to sting, lower lip wobbling precariously. He’s always up for a good cry after vomiting, but this takes a new precedent.
“You’re gonna be mad at me,” Harry manages to say in between useless sniffles. His cheeks are already wet, nose on its way to being clogged and snotty.
“Why would I be mad at you?”
“Because you are.” Harry chokes on a sob. It makes Nick wince.
Harry can tell that Nick’s caught between genuine concern and annoyance. Which is fair, Harry thinks, considering that he’s not cooperating very well.
He’s just so nervous, can feel his stomach getting upset again, because he knows he has to tell Nick, and even though it’s not a now or never type of situation, it’s the right thing to do, to tell Nick why he’s crying and almost-puking and basically a basket case right now.
“Harry…”
Once Harry starts talking, he can’t stop. “You’re gonna hate me and break up with me and I’m gonna let you, even though I don’t want you to do that, because I don’t like doing things by myself. I just understand why you’d be upset about it, because we haven’t talked about it before but now it’s happening and I don’t know what to do. I feel sick all the time and Google told me that it can get better but sometimes it doesn’t and so many other things can go wrong, and I think I’ve already fucked it up somehow because I had a martini at dinner the other night -- from that nice Italian place we went to? And none of my clothes are gonna fit and--”
“Harry. Harry. Slow down, Jesus.”
“But--”
“Shh. You just said a lot of things. At a rather brisk pace, might I add. Just tell me what all of this is about.”
Harry would rather pay to have a giant billboard put up than force the words out of his mouth. He wants to shake nick and say, Don’t you understand? Do you really want me to spell it out?
A fresh wave of tears start.
“Oh, hell. Don’t cry.”
“Sorry,” Harry hiccups. “I-- I can’t help it.”
Nick sighs. “And stop bloody apologizing. Just talk to me. I promise I won’t be angry.”
Harry eyes him skeptically, trying and failing to suppress his spasming diaphragm.. “Promise?”
“Pinky.” Nick offers his finger and Harry links it with his own, his hand shaking.
All of the adrenaline in his body seems to ease the passage of the words as he makes himself say, “I’m pregnant.” He feels comfortably numb. Perhaps his body is trying to protect itself. Protect the teeny tiny little baby it’s housing.
The world doesn’t cave in on itself. A bolt of lightning doesn’t strike either of them. Nick barely even reacts, his face giving nothing away. He just stares at Harry like he’s trying to see behind his eyes, look into his brain and figure out if it’s a joke or not.
Harry wants to crumble under the intensity of it, but he stands his ground. Well, his slump, rather. He’s still quite tired from all of the day’s stresses. And now he’s probably all blotchy and gross because he’s still crying.  
It feels like days before Nick responds.
“Pregnant, eh?”
“...Yes.”
“Like, how pregnant? On a scale from one to ten.”
A puff of air passes through Harry’s lips in an approximation of a laugh. “A ten? I think.”
“Hm. That sounds fairly pregnant to me.”
“I’d say,” Harry says tentatively.
“Reckon I know who the other father is?” Nick asks, the smirk on his face a dead giveaway that he has absolutely no doubt that it’s him.
Harry isn’t sure if he should be offended or not, that Nick is so certain but still feels the need to joke. “It’s you, arsehole.” Harry is smiling anyway, the drying tears on his face making his cheeks feel tight.
He feels sort of silly now, for freaking out as much as he did. While he’s certainly not in the clear yet, Nick isn’t acting like he’s ready to run for the hills or kick Harry out and demand that they never speak to each other again. If anything, he looks… happy.
The crinkles around his eyes that he desperately tries to cream and serum away are out in full force, a grin taking over his entire face.
“What?” Harry asks.
“Nothing. I mean, it’s exciting, innit?”
Harry has to clarify. “So you’re really not mad?”
Nick looks cross for a moment. “Of course not. Don’t know why you thought I’d be.”
“But-- we never discussed it. I thought-- like, this definitely wasn’t planned, and I don’t know about you but I’m scared out of my head right now.”
“Just because it wasn’t planned doesn’t mean it can’t be a good thing. Though I suppose I’m gonna have to make an honest man out of you yet. Do you want to wear the dress or shall I?”
Harry scoffs. “Thanks. Real romantic, Grim. Marrying me out of obligation.”
“That’s peak romance.”
“No, peak romance was me getting knocked up and not even realizing it at the time.”
“Which reminds me, how far along are we?”
Harry unconsciously brings a hand to his belly. “Nine weeks.”
Nick taps his chin thoughtfully. “Nine weeks… After Alexa’s party, you think?”
“Could’ve been. Doesn’t really matter, though. Baby’s in there now.” Hopefully to stay, Harry doesn’t add. He can’t think about that possibility right now. 
“Well, at least this explains why you’ve felt so shitty lately. Right?”
“Right.” Harry agrees. His butt has started to go numb from being on the floor so long. He moves to stand up but Nick interrupts him.
“Hey, whoa. Easy there.”
They both seem to have more limbs than they know what to do with on a good day, so there’s a lot of bumping into each other and stepping on toes while Nick tries to help Harry up.
“You don’t have to be weird about it, Nick. It’s not like I’m immobile.”
Nick holds his hands up. “Okay. Just trying to make myself useful.”
“You’re plenty useful. Too useful, I think. You’re dick is going on lockdown, by the way.”
“What?” Nick squacks.
“You heard me.”
“Why? It’s not like you can get more pregnant.”
“Not taking any chances.”
“Fine. You’ll only be punishing yourself.”
Harry rolls his eyes. He still feels a bit shaky from everything, like he needs a tall glass of water and a lie down. He says as much to Nick.
“All right. Two things on the docket, then. Get you good and hydrated and then have a cuddle. I think I can manage that. I’m knackered meself. D’ya want tea? Can you even have tea? Because I was gonna suggest some tea and biscuits, which I’m sure the biscuits are fine but I feel like caffeine might not be the best thing for a developing baby.”
Harry can’t help but laugh. “Decaf. Which we’ll have to get-- shit. Groceries. I bought groceries earlier and I never put them away.”
“Three things on the docket. For me at least. Let’s get you a drink and you can get started on Love Island. I’ll join you in a bit.”
Harry considers arguing, but knows it won’t get him anywhere. So he accepts the cup Nick offers him, peels back the duvet on Nick’s bed, changes into comfy clothes and gets settled.
It’s nice listening to Nick mess about in the kitchen, unpacking the things Harry bought for them. The occasional loud noise and the subsequent “Shit” that Harry can just barely make out.
Things are likely to get harder in the coming months, but for right now, Harry is pretty okay with how things are, all things considered. Today could have gone better, but it’s done and over. Nick is happy and so is Harry.
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dunmerofskyrim · 6 years ago
Text
75
Simra ran a thinking hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. It was stiff-cloyed and oily with nights spent outdoors. Days spent sweating in the scanty warmth of his clothes surrounded in cold. Days where he’d been too weak to charm himself clean again, needing his strength saved for fire and light and bare-boned survival. But here in the cave’s glassy-walled gut, it was warm enough that he’d tucked back his mantle over his shoulders and held his scarf in one loose hanging hand like a wrung out and well-coloured rag.
In front of him the corner, red as rust and clayed and smeared. Palmprints showed at its edges in the daylight that crept down the tunnel behind him. The sectioned ghosts of fingers, caking the colour onto it, and themselves made of colour. It was hard to stare at. Like it had a gaze of its own looking back at you. Simra turned his eyes and they settled on the tips of his fingers, nails undered with black. Disgusting.
“It needs blood?” Somehow he’d known, in some back-dark cloister of his brain. Of course it did. He tried to say it like it was nothing, but feeling came in at the hems of his voice. Interest, apprehension, stirred and muddled. “Why?”
Kaliklu thought a moment. “Blood is a tie.” He brought his hands together, fingers knit. “Like family. You, a mother, a sister…” His hands pulled apart. “Like that, but still you are tied, do you understand? That is blood.”
Sisters and separation. That struck a nerve. Like he knew, thought he knew, presumed to know. A flash of anger rose up in Simra but banked down quick – just a coincidence, the wrong words said to the wrong person – but the sour taste of it stayed in his mouth. “It connects, then? Joins distant things?”
“Yes.”
“And things share across that joining? The heat of the earth here? This paint and your paint, tied together. Do you feel like you’re here when you’re painted like that? Warm like here wherever you are?”
“If the magic is strong.”
Might be he was flattering himself, but Simra reckoned he caught a hint of something in Kaliklu’s face at that. Not respect, nor even quite appreciation, but an admission, a gratitude. Simra had grasped it, straight to the root. It made a satisfying kind of sense now he saw it, clear as smoke in a cloudless sky.
“And my help…” Simra began. “How much d’you need?”
“Enough. Not a lot. Only enough that there is blood in the mixing.”
Simra’s back teeth set and started to grind. “Can it not be other blood? An animal?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t have any though, do we?” The thing outside, all white flesh and shell — Simra had watched the other Kogaru butcher it, but hadn’t once seen it bleed.
“You said that you would help.”
“I will,” Simra said, harder than he’d meant to. “Just trying to understand.”
Kaliklu crouched to the floor of the cave, dry packed dirt amongst all this glassy stone. There was a shallow pit holed out before the painted corner, a bowl two hands across. Kaliklu placed a hand at the edge of it, showing Simra.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Fine fine fine.”
Reaching into the hidden padded pocket of his jacket, Simra brought out the razor he kept there with careful fingers. A wedge-shaped blade of bronze, almost like an axe-head shrunk down to size. Its thin tang curled to a spiral and Simra gripped it by that, delicate as he could.
Kishewyr had sworn by bloodletting, Simra remembered. Some High Rock assumption about balance in the body. It’d always seemed a fool thing to Simra, imagining a body could have too much blood. Rather that than too little. But Simra had watched a time or two, half-drunk and curious as with the careless slow focus that came from his pipesmoke, Kishewyr found his letting kit, found a vein…
Now Simra took off the braided string from his neck, old arrowhead hanging from its end. Rolled up a sleeve and twisted the cord tight partway up his arm till it bit and the skin swelled either side. Left hand, he’d decided. His right had suffered enough, all old scars and new scabs. He flexed, watching the tendons move, fighting a rising sickness and trying not to think. The veins showed raised, pink-blue through the grey back of his hand. Do it. Now, before you can think too much. Easy as stubbing your toes in the dark, done before you know it’s done, and impossible to do if you’re trying. First came the bloom of red from the vein he’d found on the back of his hand, and then the blossoming pain. The welling and drip of blood from his knuckles and into the packed dirt bowl.
Simra didn’t look. No need anymore. Just a small cut, he'd seen to that much. None of that showy palm-gashing and prick-swinging that came with the swearing of blood-oaths in the old Nord sagas and songs. Too much risk that you'd cut something that wouldn't fix right. Just a small cut, that's all the situation asked. Still, his head felt full of air. He couldn’t stop thinking of what to wipe the blade on. Scarce anything on the blade to wipe, but the thought kept coming back. He’d done worse to himself by accident; others had done worse and he’d done still worse to them. Almost funny that this was so difficult, then. Made him feel sick as it did. It wasn’t the blood or the cut. Just some other something, better left nameless.
“That is enough,” said Kaliklu. He had brought out a skin-wrapped knot of grease, white-yellow. He warmed it to melting in his hands. Mixed it in the bowl with the blood, spitting too now and then till a thick red paste had formed.
Amazed and repulsed the old mer had so much so much spit in him, Simra untwisted the cord and looped it off his arm. Standing, arm held awkward above his head to slow the blood, he hurried over to his bags and fished one-handed through them till he found a strip of cloth, same as had bound his right hand. Muttering, fidgeting and unsure what to do next, he licked the wound and spat too. Copper on his tongue. He wrapped the back of his hand tight.
“What now?” Simra said. “Need tears now too, do you?”
“No.” Kaliklu didn’t look up. “Wake him. The one you hurt. He needs it most.”
The youngest Kogaru woke with a bleary-eyed grimace. He straightened, leaning on a patchy-painted arm with his twisted leg stuck out along the ground in front of him. He wasn’t shivering now. Only making faces when he set his weight wrong, or forgot, and moved the wrong muscle. Seemed a night in the warm cave had done him good. He and the elder spoke in their own tongue, and Simra gave up listening.
The sound of striking stones, the starting of a fire, echoed down into the chamber. The elder crossed to the bowl of dirt and paint again, and chanted as he smeared the wall. Another red handprint, shining new, and then he came back to the boy. Smoke-scent from above.
Simra thought, as the elder mended the patches in the boy’s paint with careful hands and low murmuring words. As the hunter above made fire with stones on stones and set his kindling burning. He wondered about this binding with blood, this sharing across spaces. If they did it with warmth, could they do it with fire? They wouldn't use magic to call one from nothing, but maybe they could borrow across distance. If warmth, then why not the rest of a flame — its light and its hungry violence. He thought about what Noor had said about sigils, about writing that wasn't writing, songs that store themselves even when the singer is silent. But they still needed a singer, she said. A sigil doesn't cast itself. There was something in that, half-hidden from him, but huge just beyond his knowing. Like seeing a sliver of an island out to sea, and knowing it’s a mountain beneath the water. Or maybe not. He’d have to think on this, sound out that connection. Watch the Kogaru and see where that took him.
The painting was done now. Kaliklu turned his attention to the boy’s leg. The skin was wrinkled and wrong in one snarled spot. Beneath it, the muscles bulged and knotted. Clucking in his throat, Kaliklu rubbed his hands together, still cloyed with paint and blood, and pressed down with both palms. A long sigh, and he worked into the flesh with the undersides of his knuckles. Simra saw the tendons in the old mer’s neck stand taut as he pushed hard. His shoulders sunk and slumped, all the weight of his effort and patience down over the boy’s leg. And when his hands came clear, the skin was still wrong, but the muscles had laxed. They tensed, twitched, but the worst was gone.
If it was magic or not, Simra couldn’t say. Might be someone like Noor would claim wisdom was there even in things that took no magic to do. Wisdom, the real wide range of it, was in knowing what others don’t. How to slaughter a guar without sight of the knife souring its meat. How to turn the milk of its ralk into curds and then cheese. How to bring a baby out into the world when the baby won’t let itself come. And now this too. Simra felt bitter over it, covetous and lack-hungry with all he didn’t know. Cheated somehow too, in some cold part of himself. He'd seen the spell in his wand do worse by far to a body. Here it had been weak, easy to fix.
The smell of sizzling flesh, cooking meat was coming down into the cave. The sweet-ripe firm smell of shellfish, but with no tang of the ocean. The other Kogaru was cooking his kill.
Simra could hear Llolamae talking, asking questions, and getting nothing back. He curled and uncurled the fingers of his hand, twisted his wrist this way and that, wary for anything amiss. Nothing, except that the blood wouldn't stop. The rag was red with it now, soaked through.
“Sure you don’t need any more?” Simra muttered.
“It is enough.”
“Still coming. Let me know if your mind changes.” Simra’s lips pulled back, showing a bitter flicker of teeth. If Kaliklu heard the tone of his words, he did nothing to note it. “Well that’s my part of the trade done, anycase. What about yours?”
“Wait. If we are to help you—”
“If?” Simra echoed. The slow seeping away of his blood was doing nothing for his patience. “Wish I’d known there was any ‘if’ about this before I cut myself for you… Help. Will you or won’t you?”
Kaliklu was silent a moment before he spoke. “Yes. But we will give the help in our time, not yours. Or would you try to force us again?”
Simra tried to ignore the temptation in that. Two against one. He still had the razor in his right hand. His mouth felt dry and stiffened. He could do it, but it would only give them reason to lie, trick him. He needed this done, dealt with, worse than he needed it done soon. “In your time,” he said, though his tongue was sour with it.
“Come then. We will eat. Then we will talk more of trade.”
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